Under Your Spell
by shakeitsalome
Summary: A little secret never hurt anyone, right? (Triple H/OC/Dean Ambrose)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yeah, a new one. Be gentle, it's been a while since I've written anything. :)**

Chapter One

"This is crazy," she moaned against his lips. She was pulling at his shirt. She quickly gave up though, hands dropping to work open his belt. When it loosened she sighed, aware of his hands on her hips.

"I know." His voice rumbled low in her ear, hands pulling at her skirt. He hissed at the first touch of her hand to his cock through his pants, digging his fingers into her ass. His fingers were soon grasping her panties. He started to pull them down then, groaning, yanked them to the side so he could stroke her. "But it feels right…"

"Yes." Her breaths were shallow and she tried her best to stay quiet, knowing there would be hell to pay if they were caught. She quickly lowered his zipper, the sound seeming to echo in the corner of the dead-end corridor they'd found. But she paid it no mind, dropping her head back against the wall when his lips trailed down her throat. The hand on her hip tightened its grip and she bit down on her bottom lip as she was pulled up. She was read, had been since his eyes had met hers earlier, but he always seemed to take delight in furthering her torture. Above the sound of their heavy breaths, her pounding heart, and the normal backstage noise occurring just yards away, she could hear his fingers rubbing her slick folds.

She slid her legs around his waist, clutching at his biceps. He supported her with his hips, the fingers between her legs moving rapidly as his other hand yanked at the top of her dress. She faintly heard the delicate lace of her bra rip and drew in a breath to complain, but then his mouth was on her nipple. Arching, clasping handfuls of his suit jacket, she held her breath, the tip of her tongue gripped between her teeth to keep from crying out.

"Please," she whispered faintly, heels pressing against his ass as he suckled hard at her nipple. His hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing her, and she could only writhe while he sucked and stroked her to a fever pitch. Just when her entire body began to tense, just when she knew a powerful orgasm was rapidly approaching, his fingers pulled away.

He released her nipple with a wet _pop_ then made shushing sounds. His hands moved to her hips, his mouth covered hers in a tender kiss. Then, finally, he entered her.

Utter silence. Clinging to him, certain her heart had stopped, she stared into his brown eyes. He remained still for a long time, but for his cock twitching gently deep within her. Then her breath left her lungs in a rush and she became aware of the roaring of her blood in her ears. Bliss. Pure bliss.

He gave the tiniest of moans, eyes closing briefly. Just when she thought she would scream he began to move. Frantic but gentle, rough but quiet. He somehow managed to make love to and fuck her at the same time. He caressed her face, whispering nonsense, and she let her head drop to his shoulder. His hand followed hers when she reached out to clutch at nothingness, warm fingers grasping hers and holding it against the wall.

"I'm—" she cut off her gasp, buried her face against his shoulder, body growing taut. His tongue flickered over her earlobe and she thrashed, the strained whispering of her name echoing in her ear. Her fingers clawed at his bicep, her other hand squeezing his as a rapturous scream strangled in her throat.

"Fuck…" He growled her name and pinned her firmly to the wall. She felt his body throb, most keenly aware of the way his cock rippled inside her, flooding her with heat.

His bruising grips eased. Tender fingers stroked up the length of her arm, a heated palm caressed her thigh. He whispered her name, coaxing her head up, and his kiss soft as he eased her bra and dress back into place. They both hissed when he slowly withdrew. The hand on her thigh squeezed before reaching to carefully smooth her panties. Her own trembling hands worked to restore his clothing. His lips remained over hers while she eased her feet down to the floor. By the time her breathing and heartbeat were back to normal there was very little outward appearance to what had just transpired.

Their little secret.

"I better go," he said after breaking the kiss with a sigh. There was regret in his eyes. She recognized it, and knew it was because he had to leave.

"I know." She smoothed her hands down his torso, both so she could straighten his shirt and so she could touch him again.

"I'll see you later."

She nodded, felt the wall at her back vibrate with entrance music starting up. Catching sight of a glimmer on his lips, she reached up to wipe the remnants of her lip gloss away. He had only a few minutes before his own music would start and he would have to go out and become the best asshole in the business. "Go."

He leaned down to drop a kiss on her cheek. "I'll text you."

"I'll be waiting." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze then finally stepped away. "Talk to you later, Paul."

* * *

She was almost asleep when there was a persistent knocking at her hotel room door. Groaning, she slid out of bed and padded across the room, pushing her long auburn hair from her face. It was late, approaching two in the morning. And, except for a few brief moments of texting, she had been alone since leaving the arena. Glancing through the peephole, she smiled at the sight of her visitor and opened the door.

"Hey Soph." Dean Ambrose pushed his baseball cap further back on his head and offered a grin, his eyes drifting down her figure. "Are you going to sleep?"

"I was," she answered, grunting when he swept past her and entered the room. With a cursory glance up and down the hall she was assured that no one had seen him and closed the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Just got in." He was already flopped across her bed, and indicated the bottle on the nightstand. "Can I get a shot?"

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into the bathroom and grabbed the extra cup off the counter. Dean was obviously wide awake and bored. And though she normally welcomed his unexpected visits, tonight she wasn't up for it. "Don't you have a room to yourself now?" she asked upon reentering the bedroom.

"Nah, sharing with Roman. When I got to the room the 'do not disturb' sign was on the door." He sat up, nudging the bottom of the bottle further up as she poured whiskey into his cup. "I managed to slip in without making noise. Was just about to get my exhausted ass in my bed when I heard a noisy blowjob starting up."

"I didn't know Ro was dating anyone," she mused, handing over the cup and reaching for her own.

"He's not. I didn't get a look at her so I don't know if it was a random or if one of the Divas finally scored."

Sophia leaned to place the bottle on the nightstand. While she was at it, she checked her phone. Then, feeling callused fingers on her thigh, she yelped and turned to face Dean. "Th'hell!"

"Sex bruises?" he asked, smirking as she yanked the hem of the t-shirt she wore down.

"Hardly," she snorted, taking a sip of her whiskey. "I was running the ropes earlier and tripped."

He tilted his head and she knew that he knew she was lying. Damn the man for being so perceptive.

"I did," she insisted. And she _had_ tripped while running the ropes. But she wasn't about to admit that the bruises had occurred later.

"Sophia."

"Dean."

"You disappeared for a while backstage tonight," he recalled, settling back with his drink. He'd kicked off his shoes and from all appearances seemed ready to settle in for the night.

"Did I?" she asked casually, glancing to her phone.

"You were gone for thirty minutes."

"I was probably putting on my gear." She shrugged and picked up her phone two seconds before it vibrated with an incoming message.

 _I'll be there in ten._

"Sophia, why the fuck are you lying to me?" Dean asked.

"Because I'm tired." She drained the rest of her whiskey then took his empty cup. "Out you go, Ambrose."

"But… Roman sex," he almost whined, though he slid to the edge of the bed and reached for his shoes.

"Ear plugs," she suggested, slipping her phone under the pillow just in case he tried to get a little nosier.

He groaned and grumbled the entire time, sulking his way to the door. There, he turned to face her, his gaze assessing. Lifting one eyebrow, he sighed. "Who is it?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, gathering her hair in a ponytail and twisting it into a quick bun at the back of her head.

"Who's coming here that you don't want me to see?"

"Dean." She laughed and leaned up to push a kiss against his cheek. He was in need of a shave; his stubble tickled her lips. "You may be one of my very best friends and I would trust you with my life. But you know what?"

"What?" he grunted.

"You're the nosiest asshole I know. Now go."

"I could just hang out in the hall—" He threw up his hands when she glared. "Fine! Shit! Have your secrets. I've got mine too, you know."

"I'm sure you do, but—"

"I know, I know, you want me to get the fuck out," he groaned. He smacked a kiss to the top of her head. Then he opened the door. "But, Soph…"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," he said softly, a hint of sadness in his voice. Then, with a wave, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, follows, etc! I really appreciate every bit of support. :)**

Chapter Two

She awoke to the sound of her phone's alarm. Before she could silence it, a heavy arm reached across her to do it for her. Groaning, she snuggled closer to him. She just wanted a few more moments of his warmth before he had to leave. Once secure in his embrace she sighed, having come to enjoy moments such as these almost as much as she enjoyed their lovemaking.

"Mornin'." His voice was rough from sleep.

Finally opening her eyes, Sophia offered him a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"I always do when I'm with you," he murmured, lips on her forehead.

Legs tangled with his, she burrowed deeper under the covers. A childlike groan of 'five more minutes' was about to slip out of her mouth when his alarm started to blare. How was it time for him to go already? She masked a pout by pressing a kiss to the center of his broad chest. Then, hoping against hope, she poked her head from beneath the covers while he silenced his phone. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"I'll be in Florida. Flying out tonight." His arms went around her and tugged her up until she was lying over him.

"Will you be in Florida through the weekend?" she asked, lightly tracing the faint scars of his forehead.

"Tomorrow and Thursday I'll be at the Performance Center. Friday night you'll be in Largo for the show, right?" When she nodded he smirked. "What a coincidence, I'll be there too. Then Saturday is…"

"Lakeland," she supplied. "Sunday I'll be flying to Seattle for Monday's Raw."

"What do you say to me spending Thursday night with you, then we can fly out together on Sunday?"

Slightly distracted when he sat up, she moved to straddle his thighs and tucked her head on his shoulder. "Are you saying you'll stay with me all weekend?"

"As much as possible." His hands were in her hair, brushing it to one side, then he was lightly nuzzling her neck. "We can't ride to the NXT shows together, but other than that…"

Sophia giggled, wrapping her arms around him. She refused to admit how much she looked forward to the time alone. They'd be able to fully relax once in a place where they didn't have to glance over their shoulders. True, they'd had such time together before, but that had been a while. Thinking of the state she'd left her apartment in, she wrinkled her nose. Tomorrow would be spent cleaning. Thursday she would get some shopping done. And she'd have him all to herself from Thursday night until they both had to leave for the NXT show… Giddy with excitement, she caught his lips in a fervent kiss. She could hear his phone starting to chirp with emails and messages, and fully expected him to draw away. But he pulled her in closer, his hand drifting down to hold onto her thigh as he rolled her to her back.

"I have to go," he sighed between kisses.

"I know." She held onto him, though, once again memorizing the feel of his body over hers. "I'll see you at the show."

"Come to my office when you get in. We need to go over storyline." He gave her another kiss, one full of promise, then dragged himself away.

"It's changing?" she asked, sliding out of the bed and retrieving the oversized t-shirt she'd discarded the night before. Mind switching from him to her work, she thought of the lackluster storyline she'd been in since being moved up to the main roster. Character-wise, she'd been stuck in limbo, competing in random matches with no feuds to speak of.

"Vince has a couple ideas and told Mike to write up a few possibilities." Paul was gathering his clothes. "We went over them last night, that's why I was so late. He'll be there too, to give his approval."

Thinking of his father-in-law, Sophia chewed on her lip. She pictured bra-and-panty matches, love triangles, live sex in-ring celebrations. PG Era or no, Vince was still practically medieval in his treatment of the Divas. "What are they?"

"You'll see." He tapped her nose with his index finger. "It's nothing too terrible. You're not having a mud match with Paige."

"Maybe I want to have a mud match with Paige?" she teased, reaching to button his shirt.

"Behave," he warned.

"You should know by now that I never do that. Was I behaving when you first met me?"

He sighed, and she knew he was thinking of that first meeting. She'd just finished her last match in the Indies, having been signed to WWE, and had celebrated in the locker room with a few too many shots with the others in the promotion. When he'd walked in with the owner, she'd been in the middle of stripping out of her ring gear.

Her first time meeting one of her new bosses and she'd been half-drunk and topless. If she was a better person, she might be embarrassed. Instead, she grinned, patting his chest. "Cheer up, Paul. At least you knew right away that the girls were real."

"For your information, I wasn't sure they were real until I got my hands on them." He cupped her breasts, giving them a squeeze. Then, groaning as his phone chirped yet again, he released them. "I gotta go."

"Go. See you later." She gave him a parting kiss at the door. Still able to feel the blaze of his lips after he'd gone, she rushed to shower.

Their first meeting had been unconventional, she thought once she stood beneath the stream of hot water. But when had she ever been conventional? She'd dropped out of high school when faced with a second year of tenth grade and had never looked back. Supported by waitressing she'd put herself through a wrestling school in Georgia, lying about her age and striving to be the best so the owners and trainers wouldn't ask too many questions.

She had studied old wrestling tapes, memorized promos of the greats. When not carrying food to grouchy truck drivers she'd been at the school, watching and soaking it all in. At eighteen she'd been picked up by a local promotion, where she'd worked for a year, then moving to a west coast promotion with ties in Japan. There she'd learned to focus on honing her talents, and after her first trip overseas she'd come back with a belt. One belt led to two which led to more, and she thought fondly of the times she'd driven up and down the coast with belts from five different promotions in the backseat.

Somehow she had ended up in Florida, where she had met Dean. Strangely, he'd taken her under his wing in those months before he'd signed with WWE, and they'd shared long nights of insomnia fueled by whisky and cigarettes and dreams. He was one of those people that always knew a guy who knew a guy, and she'd finally gotten in with a promotion that didn't have an owner who expected her to use her body to climb the ladder.

Then he'd started at FCW. He still kept her under his wing, still attended shows to watch her when he could. But she had always known he was meant for fame and had felt him slipping away. Frowning now, she recalled the night she'd cried because she was losing the only real friend she'd ever had. Silly. Even when he'd begun traveling, even when his face was on TV every week, he hadn't forgotten about her. He had never said so, but she knew in her heart that he was the one who'd pointed the scouts in her direction.

 _Be careful_.

He'd said it the day she'd signed the contract to begin at NXT. He'd said it the day she'd been called up. And he'd said it again last night.

Did he know? He couldn't. He would have confronted her by now. But still she worried that he would find out. Sometimes she worried more about his finding out than she did Vince or Stephanie.

Stephanie. She winced, thinking of the woman who'd introduced her to the WWE audience on the night of her debut. Stephanie frequently bowed to her father's demands, but it was because of her that Sophia had been brought up when she had. The Divas were overrun with brunettes and blondes that seemed to blend into one, with a few exceptions, and Stephanie had argued for the need of someone who stood out.

Enter Sophia. Peaches and cream skin. Wild, curly, light auburn hair. Bright green eyes. She was considered petite, though she wasn't sure how when her curves were generous. She believed herself to be passably attractive. Unlike most of the other Divas, her social media accounts weren't filled with selfies and ecstatic posts about shoes and makeup. In fact, she rarely posted at all, unless prodded to by the company.

She turned her thoughts from Stephanie, not wanting to wait for the guilt that had yet to show up. Instead, lathering her hair, she reminisced on her time in WWE. She had felt comfortable at NXT, awed by the personal attention given her by the best of the best. She smiled, thinking of Dusty Rhodes lambasting her in his unique way for her lack of driving skills. She really needed to get to the Performance Center and pay a visit to the man. He'd once told her that the only reason he gave a damn about her was because she needed help, whether she knew it or not. Curse words and the words "listen here" had littered his speech, and he'd brought up her defensive side more than once. Then he'd soothed it all over by kissing her cheek and telling her that she'd always be his little warrior princess.

Showered and dressed, she made her way to the lobby. It was quiet and she was able to drink a cup of coffee in solitude before going down to the hotel's gym.

Adele saw her through her workout. Ed Sheeran crooned in her ears during her run on the treadmill. Hitting the mats for stretching, she longed for a workout buddy and made a mental note to ask Nattie.

She was almost finished when a familiar face loomed over her. Pulling one knee to her chest, she grunted when her earbuds were tugged out of her ears. "What?" she asked, pulling her knee until she could feel the stretch in her thigh.

"When did you get here?" Dean asked. He looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed. He didn't bother muffling his yawn and raked a hand through his messy hair.

"Almost two hours ago. You look like death warmed over," she observed, slowly lowering her knee and reaching for the other one.

Another man leaned over to catch her gaze. "Morning, Sophia!" he greeted cheerfully.

"Mornin' Ro. Sleep well?" she asked, fighting a smile when Dean rolled his eyes.

"Hell yeah. You got plans for lunch?" Roman asked.

"Not at all." She bit back a laugh at his exuberant tone and demeanor. A recently laid Roman was a cheerful Roman. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Something spicy. Lady's choice. Text me, we'll meet you there."

"You hear that?" Dean groused when Roman had walked away. "That bastard kept me up all night getting his fuck on and now he's cheerful as a goddamn Labrador."

"Just because you can't get laid to save your life doesn't mean you have to be a grouch to everyone that can," she advised. "Besides, I remember many weekends spent in your spare room listening to your flavor of the night destroy her vocal cords."

Dean flashed a grin. "I'll have you know that there are thousands of women who'd give their left arms to fuck me." As though to prove a point, he thrust out both arms to indicate the inside of the gym.

Sophia got to her feet and slowly looked around the space. Save for Roman and a soccer mom over on the treadmill, the gym was empty. "Oh yes. I can see they're beating down the door."

"Smartass," he muttered. "You know what I mean."

"The blonde?" she asked, indicating the woman on the treadmill with a nod.

Dean glanced over and quickly nodded. "Yes. I can almost hear her begging me from here."

"Really?" Sophia picked up her discarded hoodie and wound the cord of her earbuds around her phone. "Maybe you're right."

"Of fucking course I'm right." He straightened his shoulders and began attempting to put his hair in some sort of order.

"Go for it Tiger," she purred. "You can tell me all about it over lunch."

"Hang on." Dean thumped his chest with one fist, then turned his head to belch over his shoulder. "Okay. I'm going in."

* * *

Sophia had just placed her order when Dean and Roman entered the restaurant. Having picked up her phone to send a text to Paul, she pushed it back into her pocket and greeted her friends with a smile. Roman returned the smile with his own, lips brushing her cheek as he settled on the bench next to her. Dean, however, grumbled under his breath and dropped onto the other side of the booth.

"Good workout?" she inquired sweetly, picking up her glass of iced tea.

"Oh it was abso-fucking-lutely phenomenal," Dean sneered, leaning out the booth to call for a waitress.

"Dude," Roman laughed, greeting the waitress with a smile and nod before taking the offered menu and requesting water. Once the waitress had headed away he looked to Dean. "I said I was sorry."

"What happened?" Sophia asked.

Dean slapped his hands against the table and leaned forward. "I was _this_ close to getting it in, Soph!"

"And?" she prodded.

"The dumbass tried to be smooth and propped his elbow on the control panel," Roman informed, eyes on the menu.

"Oh no," Sophia sighed.

"I didn't know!" Dean blurted. "I didn't know my elbow would hit the emergency stop switch!"

"Dean," Sophia groaned, elbowing Roman when he snorted on a laugh. "What happened then?"

"She fell." Dean cut a glare in Roman's direction. "And that's that. What'd you order, Soph?"

"Ro?"

"She fell. I was a couple feet away so I moved to catch her—"

"Which he fucking did," Dean interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

"It's what gentlemen do, you fucking moron. Anyway, I made sure she wasn't hurt and we got to talking."

"'Yeah, my name's Roman. Look at my biceps. Check out my hair. See these pecs? Wanna touch 'em? I got somethin' else you can touch, baby girl.'" Dean mimicked Roman's deep voice and flexed his own biceps.

"Man, fuck you," Roman laughed.

"No, you don't need to. You'll have _Kandy-with-a-K_ to fuck tonight."

"Kandy with a K?" Sophia repeated, shoulders shaking.

"She's a nurse at the local hospital. Divorced. Three kids that just happen to be with their father this week. And oh yes, she'd just _love_ to come to the show tonight!" Dean gave a high-pitched giggle, batting his eyelashes. Taking his drink when the waitress returned, he rattled off his order, then rolled his eyes dramatically as Roman did the same.

"Did you get her number?" Sophia asked Roman.

His lips curved into a smile. "Yep."

"So this isn't breaking some bro code? I mean, Dean did see her first."

"Thank you!"

"True, but he fucked up royally when he tried to send her ass to the floor. So the bro code is void."

"You guys are ridiculous. Don't you get tired of random pussy?"

"It beats lotion and porn," Roman announced with a shrug. "Besides, don't act so innocent. You ladies get just as many opportunities as we do."

"Some people want more than a random tumble in an anonymous hotel room with a person they'll never see or hear from again," Sophia informed softly.

"True, but sometimes you have to take what you can get." Roman tugged an errant curl.

"Yep. And tonight, he's getting Kandy-with-a-K!" Dean exclaimed.

* * *

Having been told of the meeting beforehand, Sophia took pains to dress professionally. She knew from past experience that Vince appreciated a polished woman. So, cursing her crazy hair that made her resemble Merida from _Brave_ , she utilized a hair dryer and flat iron to smooth the locks. She then held her breath while applying a light layer of makeup. Then, deciding against her usual messy ponytail, she used a handful of bobby pins she'd found in the bottom of her makeup bag to pull the hair back from her face.

Slipping into the dress she hadn't worn the night before, she tugged the neckline up and the hemline down while stepping into the only pair of high heels she'd packed into her luggage. After assessing herself in the hotel room mirror, she crammed her things into her suitcase and headed to the arena.

When she parked her rental car she saw that Roman and Dean had just arrived. They were chatting amiably while crossing to the backstage entrance. Glancing over while she unloaded her things, she noted that all the waiting fans' attention was on them, and she was able to go inside without being called to. She left her bags in the Divas locker room then, straightening her shoulders, went to Paul's office.

He was standing behind the desk, talking on the phone, and held up a finger when she stepped inside. She saw that he was alone and relaxed slightly, slipping into one of the empty chairs. Taking advantage of the fact no one else was in the room, she unabashedly drank in the sight of him. He'd obviously been fully buttoned up in his suit earlier, but she liked that he'd removed his jacket and loosened his tie. The first few buttons of his dress shirt were undone, the sleeves rolled up. Cufflinks glittered next to his laptop and, next to them, was a cup of coffee.

His gaze traveled over her and one corner of his mouth lifted. Still talking, he nudged the cup towards her, mouthed that it was her favorite. She sent him a grateful look and lifted the cup for a sip. Sweet, sweet caffeinated warmth spread through her. It was still steaming hot, and she wondered what lackey had been sent to fetch it.

Paul ended the call and tossed his phone onto the desk, eyes never straying from her. "You look nice."

"So do you."

He opened his mouth to speak again, only to clear his throat when the door pushed open.

Vince McMahon strode in, and Sophia instantly got to her feet. He waved off the formality, gruffly telling her to sit down. Before she could do so, though, he embraced her with one arm. "Gorgeous little thing," he said as she resumed her seat. "I think your hair looks better like this instead of curly, but you're always nice to look at. I know the fans like looking at you."

Sophia pressed her lips together, reminding herself that the man straightening his tie and taking Paul's seat could make or break her. So, she curved her lips into a smile and sweetly thanked him. Paul rolled his eyes and reached for his iPad.

"Mike emailed me the two storylines." His fingers moved quickly over the screen as he walked around the desk. Standing behind her, he held out the device. "Go ahead and read them over."

"I like the first one," Vince said.

Making a mental note to hate the first one, Sophia began to read. Mental note or no, she disliked it. Love triangle with Dean and Roman. The "brothers" needed to be split up somehow, and one of them needed to turn heel. What better way than over a woman? Reading over the ideas, which included Dean and her being caught backstage with their pants down, she unconsciously shook her head. Then, without thinking, she blurted, "I don't think that would work as it's written here."

"What do you mean?" Vince demanded.

"The bro code. I mean, the unwritten rules between close male friends. Plus, I'd come across as a slut if I kept stringing both of them along. Why would either of them want to choose me over their friendship?" Chewing on her lip, she shook her head again. "If it started as just one of them showing an interest and progressing us to an onscreen couple, I could see it moving to the other being jealous because he's always being left out. Maybe a mixed tag match where the one I'm dating ditches the other to come to my aid and his partner gets his ass beaten. Then he could try to sabotage it and instead of getting his best friend back they turn on each other."

"What about the other one?" Vince asked, reaching for paper and pen.

Sophia released her breath, grateful there was no sign that the boss was irritated with her. Reading the second paragraph, she found she liked it. It wasn't perfect, but it was a lot better than the first. In this one, she wouldn't come between Roman and Dean in such a blatant way. This idea called for them to come to her aid and then for romance to take effect. She tried to picture herself kissing Dean and almost laughed, masking it with a cough. She had no idea why Vince was even showing her the ideas; her contract didn't call for storyline approval. If he wanted, he could make her into the biggest slut in WWE, stringing every man on the roster along. Grateful he wasn't, she handed the iPad back to Paul, steeling her features when his fingers grazed over hers.

"I like it better than the first. But… Can I ask why it has to be a romantic?"

"Because the only thing we have now is Lana and Rusev and their problems. It's not going over very well, so we have to find something that will. Dean and Roman are the biggest things we've got going right now, and you're one of the most promising Divas. Plus you're seen with them now and then away from work, so that would help it." Vince didn't look up from the notes he was jotting down, and it amazed Sophia that he didn't have someone to do the notetaking for him. "I'll let Paul make the final decision, then we'll get the ball rolling. You go on and get ready for tonight."

"Yes sir," she murmured, rising to her feet. Paul walked her to the door, hand on the small of her back, whispering that he would seek her out later. Nodding, she said her goodbyes to the men and left the room, clutching the cup of coffee.

Did Roman and Dean know? she wondered as she headed for the locker room. She had half a mind to find them and ask, then thought better of it. If they knew, they would have told her. Dean was forever going over his own storylines with her; had he found out they had plans for them to work together he wouldn't have been able to keep it in. Groaning, she turned to head in the direction of the men's locker room. Dean would raise holy Hell if she didn't tell him.

She found them in Catering, both with loaded down plates despite their large lunch. Thinking of the five pounds she'd managed to gain lately, she bypassed the tempting food and joined the men at a table. She ignored the way Dean stared in horror at her straightened hair and launched into the possible storylines.

"Whatever the boss wants," Roman decided with a shrug. Never one to ruffle the feathers of those in charge, he resumed eating.

"So you're saying that I may have to lock lips with you?" Dean asked.

"I'll be sure and chew raw garlic just beforehand," she promised, pushing on his shoulder. "Stop looking like it would kill you."

"Trust me, I've seen where those lips have been in the past. Be damned if I want to—Fuck!" Dean wheezed when the heel of her shoe came down firmly on his toes. "A joke, Soph!"

"You ain't seen shit," she reminded with a scowl. "Unlike _some_ people I know, I kept my sex life private."

Dean rolled his eyes, lips moving exaggeratedly as he mimed her speaking.

"Besides," she went on, rising to her feet and not looking to Roman, who was trying hard not to laugh, "I've come to realize that the people who talk about sex all the time are the ones who rarely get it. See you later."

"Wait!" Dean called, his voice saccharine sweet. "What the fuck is up with your hair?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's okay, I guess. But, Soph, it's really not you."

"I agree, but when did you become an expert on what's me?" she asked.

He scoffed, affecting an expression of hurt. "That's the thanks I get for taking you in off the street—"

"I was in an apartment—"

"Feeding you—"

"I taught you how to fix toast without setting a fire—"

"Clothing you—"

"Throwing an extra t-shirt at me is hardly—"

"Not to mention dealing with Len."

The flames of irritation died abruptly as unwelcome memories floated through her mind. She saw his expression change, the instant lament darkening his eyes. He never brought up Len. Her heart did a series of weak beats, leaving her short of breath, and she clutched her cup of coffee, taking a shaky step away from the table.

"Soph—"

"I have to go," she managed.

"Soph, please." His hand gently caught her arm. When she looked up, she saw the pain in his eyes. "C'mon," he whispered. "I'll walk with you."

"I can walk by—Okay," she whispered, noting the way his brow furrowed.

Leaving Catering and a bewildered Roman, he guided her down the hallways.

"I'm sorry," he said softly when they rounded the bend that led to the Divas locker room. A gentle tug on her arm and she stopped, looking up at him warily when he stepped in front of her. "That was a low blow and of all people, you didn't deserve it."

"It's okay. You were right. You did take me in and take care of me." She dropped her gaze to his hand, which had dropped from her arm. "You really took care of me, Dean, and I'll always be grateful."

"Hey…" He leaned down, weaving his head from side to side until he caught her gaze. "You took care of me too, right? Who smacked me and told me to stop being a whiny bitch?"

She snorted on a laugh. Having been so close to crying, the sound was a welcome one. "I did that just last week."

"See? You still take care of me."

She nodded. Taking advantage of the rare occurrence of him showing emotion, she tucked her arms around him for a hug. "You still take care of me, too, y'know."

"I always will," he promised, returning her embrace. Cheek pressed to the top of her head, he sighed. "And for the record… I hate your hair like this."

"Trust me, it's a one-time thing. I'm going to take a shower and return to my normal bushy mess." She squeezed, letting go when he did.

"I'm sorry I brought that shit up," he murmured. "It won't happen again."

"Really, it's okay. I was being a bitch." She checked her watch and made a face. "I better run. I've got a photoshoot in an hour."

"You sure you're okay?" His thumb brushed just beneath her eye. "You look like you didn't get much sleep."

"Goodbye, Dean," she announced, stepping to her left to get by him.

He moved with her, blocking her exit. "C'mon, who is it? You know I won't blab."

"Why is it so important to you?" The man was worse than an old cartoon dog, she thought sourly. Once his teeth sank into something juicy, he refused to let go.

"Because I have to take care of you. Is it one of the guys?"

'The guys' could mean any one of dozens of men. Groaning, she nodded. "Yes, it is. Now let me go?"

"Why the secrecy?"

"I keep things private, remember? Now, please, I've got to get ready for the shoot."

"Does anyone know?" His eyes lit up. "Does Ro?"

"No one knows. And no one will." She darted to the right, ducking beneath his arm.

"Sophia! You're such a bitch!" Dean hollered.

"I learned from the best!" she called over her shoulder before escaping into the safety of the locker room.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: You all continue to blow me away with the reviews! Thank you so much. :)**

Chapter Three

Watching the monitor backstage, Paul kept his face impassive as Dean Ambrose approached a fallen Sophia. The camera was on the floor, following a surprise attack on Sophia. One muscle in his jaw twitched when Dean's hands gently cradled Sophia's head. He spoke in gentle tones, so unlike his usual boisterous demeanor that even Paul was impressed. The fallen Diva was helped up and she cried out as one leg crumpled.

Paul tensed, folding his arms over his chest. Her painful cry was so convincing that, had she not seconds before been skipping by him to get into position, he would have thought her truly injured. He pursed his lips, wondering why Dean had been chosen. True, they were friends off screen, but surely the better choice would have been Roman?

Dean hollered for assistance but none came. Swallowing a flare of jealousy when the man easily lifted Sophia into his arms, Paul narrowed his eyes and stared closely to make sure Ambrose kept his hands in PG places. The bright light glinted on a tear that had streaked Sophia's cheek, and as the camera backed away Dean could be heard calling for help.

Grateful when it went black, signaling a commercial break, Paul tugged the earphones from his head and sighed. He reminded himself that she was with him, no matter how fucked up their situation was. Looking to his phone, which had recently lit up with a message from his wife, he dragged a hand over his face. He muttered an excuse to the producer next to him and rose from his seat. Phone in hand, he went to his office to call home.

The girls were ready to say goodnight. Stephanie sounded tired but happy when she told him they were all piled into the big bed to watch a movie. On speakerphone, he spoke words of love to the three brightest spots in his life, wishing he could be the one to tuck them in for once. He'd made his bed though, even if it was in a hotel, so he kept up his happy tone.

"Don't forget to send in the financials tomorrow," Stephanie said once the girls' voices had died down.

Paul pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. "I won't."

"And Dad has his procedure Monday so he won't be in Seattle."

Vince had told him as much not an hour before. "I know. You're flying out, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure yet. Aurora's school is having an open house. Mom will be taking care of Dad, so right now it's up in the air. But I'm sure you can handle it. And you know Dad will be on the phone until the doctor takes it away from him."

"Yeah," Paul chuckled. Nothing would keep the old man out of commission for long.

"You better go. I'll call you in the morning. Text me when your flight lands."

He opened his mouth to reply, only to sigh when he realized she'd already hung up. He was tempted to turn off his phone and not text her anything, but knew he wouldn't. Orlando police would be banging down the door of his condo if she didn't hear from him. Sighing again, he turned his phone to silent and slipped it into his pocket before leaving his office to get back to his position at the monitor.

Sophia was there, chatting amiably with Reigns and Ambrose. A little too amiably in Paul's mind, but he tamped down the jealousy. He couldn't begrudge her having friends. He knew Reigns was a standup guy. Ambrose too, for all evidence of the opposite. She could do a lot worse when it came to friends.

"What did you think?" she asked when he approached. She looked so hopeful. So excited to finally have something other than random matches.

He knew she was worried about the fact that since the excitement of her debut had died down she'd been floundering. Not because she wasn't good. Not because someone felt she didn't deserve it. He would explain it to her over the weekend. Surely she'd understand that he'd nixed storylines that had been suggested because they weren't good enough for her. She deserved more than being a valet. She deserved more than just sitting in on commentary. She deserved so much more than what she'd been given.

"It was good," he answered, letting his nod include Ambrose. Who probably didn't give a shit what he thought, he mused when the younger man began cracking his knuckles. "Your pain was very convincing."

She practically beamed. "Thank you."

"You two," he said, looking to Ambrose and Reigns. "There's a backstage bit where you're talking about her, right?"

"Yeah," Reigns answered with a nod. "After the next match."

"Play up the fact that her ankle looked really bad. Complain that the doctor made her wait before he could see her. And you." He gestured to Roman. "Show concern for her, right? Vince wants to drag this out as long as possible, so you can't look irritated when Ambrose is talking about her yet."

"Sure thing." Reigns adjusted his wrist cuffs then lightly hit Dean's shoulder. "We better go get ready."

"See you later," Ambrose said to Sophia with a grin. Then, after saluting Paul, he headed after his friend.

Paul slipped a hand into his pocket, eyes on Sophia as she checked something on her phone. "You should go ahead and change. What time is your flight?"

"Midnight," she answered, glancing up when he pressed his hand against hers. The slip of paper stayed in her palm when he drew his hand away, and he heard it crinkle as she closed her fingers over it.

"No, it leaves at eleven thirty." He lowered his voice, just in case someone walked by and could overhear them talking. "I already let the pilot know you'd be flying with me."

"What about—"

"I need you at the Performance Center tomorrow to help one of the new girls with her gimmick," he answered quickly. He wet his lips, wishing he could kiss her but knowing too many invisible eyes were watching. "The info is on the paper. I'll meet you there. Oh, and, Sophia?"

"Yes?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.

"Stay the night when we get there."

Her eyes widened, both in surprise and pleasure. "I'd love that."

"So would I." He heard the echo of the bell in the arena and cleared his throat. Back to work. She smiled, tucked the slip of paper into the band of her spandex shorts and murmured a quick goodbye before heading off.

* * *

"Oh my gosh, this is amazing," Sophia gushed as she stood in the center of the cabin. Along one wall were low, padded seats that created a sort of couch. The small windows had wood blinds, and there was a fresh, faintly citrus, scent. The other side featured two double seats that faced each other across from a gleaming table. In the center of the table was a crystal vase that held a bouquet of fresh flowers. LCD panels were tucked everywhere, all apparently connected to the entertainment system. On the nearest, she noticed that several new movies were available for viewing. The seats were covered in a soft leather and looked to be sinfully comfortable.

"You like it, huh?" Paul chuckled, turning to the pilot to tell him they could take off when prepped. The pilot nodded and went forward to the cockpit, sensibly closing the privacy door behind him. Paul watched Sophia, who turned slowly around to take in every detail.

"It's… Wow. No cranky businessmen, no crying babies or whiny kids, no obnoxious guy snoring right behind me." She perched on the couch, testing it out, and ran a hand over one of the many throw pillows. "No one complaining. No one smelling like they've missed a month of showers. No one kicking off his shoes and making everyone gag from the smell."

Paul laughed, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it over the back of a seat. "Do you want a drink?"

"Could I have a whiskey, please?" She got to her feet to remove her own coat, thinking that her faded, ratty jeans and oversized sweatshirt contrasted with the fine interior.

"Coming right up." He took her coat and put it with his then went to the rear, where she saw a wet bar.

She unwound the long scarf from her neck, grateful to leave the biting winds of Chicago for the balmy breezes of Florida. "How long is the flight?"

"About three hours."

Watching him pour drinks, she gathered her scarf and put it with their coats. Her sweatshirt joined them and she was grateful for the heating in the cabin. She smoothed her gray Performance Center t-shirt, seeing that the backpack she usually carried onboard her normal flights was tucked in one of the seats at the table. She'd been able to avoid long lines and tedious checkpoints. She hoped she had remained inconspicuous, having pushed her hair into a stretchy knit cap and kept her head down in case of fans or coworkers. Fretting, for Paul had mentioned he used this company nearly all the time when introducing her to the pilots, she chewed at her bottom lip. "The pilots—"

"Are quiet. I promise, they won't say a word. As far as they know, we're just coworkers sharing the plane to Florida."

And they were. But they were so much more than just coworkers. Weren't they?

"Hey," he murmured, handing her a glass and sitting on the couch. She joined him, hearing the muffled whine of the engines starting. "Stop worrying."

"I feel out of place in this," she admitted, taking a small sip of the whiskey. It burned its way down her throat before exploding with warmth in her chest. "I'm a coach type of gal."

"I still fly coach. Sometimes." He flashed a grin, clapping a hand over her knee and giving it a squeeze. "Relax, sweetie."

She would try. Taking another sip of her drink, she tensed at the sound of the pilot's voice coming over the speaker. He requested that they remain seated for takeoff, then rattled off the current weather conditions. Paul reached around her to tap on the nearby screen. At the sound of a ding, he said they were ready and to not disturb them. The pilot gave an affirmative, then the speaker went silent.

"They can't hear us," Paul promised when she cast a wary glance at the speaker built into the ceiling above their heads.

"Okay." She took a deep breath and smiled. "What do you normally do on these flights?"

"Paperwork." His gaze moved to the case he'd carried onboard. "Emails. Approve finances. Delegate. Get a headache."

"You know…" she trailed, pausing to gulp down the remainder of her drink. Hissing at the resulting burn, she slid her hand over his, following the length of his arm up to his shoulder. He'd changed out of his suit, and the thin black fleece jacket that bore the symbol of the company hugged his muscles. "I'm a firm believer in leaving work at the office." She tilted her head, thinking that his office was spread across the world. "Okay, wait. I'm a firm believer in not doing work after business hours."

"You are?" he asked, his grin one of amusement.

She nodded, letting him take her glass and set it aside. Toying with the zipper pull of his jacket, she finally pulled it down, slipping her hand inside. He was warm, as always, and the soft cotton of his long-sleeved t-shirt grazed her palm. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, but our business hours ended at about eleven, didn't they?"

"They did." He squeezed her knee.

"Then I think you need to just forget all about the emails and finances and delegations until morning." She glanced behind him, through the blinds, and gasped. "Oh…"

He laughed indulgently, not seeming to mind that her attention had strayed from him for a moment. Turning so he could look out as well, he raised the blinds and their view was unaltered.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked softly, watching the lights of the airport fade into a larger expanse of twinkling lights. "I can almost forget about the wind and dirt and rude people and screaming taxi drivers now that I'm up here."

He was silent. She glanced at him, expecting to see him looking out the window. Her breath caught in her throat when she found he was looking at her.

"How do you get used to this?"

"If you're smart, you don't."

She looked out the window again, watching the lights of Chicago fade away. After lowering the blinds, she turned and settled at his side. "Why shouldn't you get used to this?"

"This…" He spread his arms to indicate what she thought were luxurious surroundings. One arm dropped around her shoulders. "All this can go away in an instant. And if you're used to this, to champagne and caviar, to expensive clothes and jewelry and fancy cars, then… When it does get ripped away, you don't know what to do."

"What about the lucky ones that grow up like this?"

"It's still better if they don't get used to it. It's okay to appreciate it, to feel entitled to a little first-class service now and then. But… When you think it's your due every day of every year…" His expression hardened. "You don't know how to appreciate the little things that people do to give you that first-class service. Take Jimmy, the co-pilot."

Sophia thought of the lanky man with receding hair and a slight stutter. "He seemed nice."

"He is. He's a great guy. His mom died last summer. They were really close." Paul crossed his fingers. "Like that. He couldn't attend the funeral."

"But why?" she asked.

"Because someone needed him to fly them LA. Last minute trip for a concert, because she wanted to go. He tried to get someone else but there were no other pilots available. So, he did it, because he needs the job and has tons of medical bills to pay off. But she didn't think about that when she was yelling into her phone that her plane better be ready to go."

"Stephanie." The name of his wife was unwanted, but she said it anyway.

Paul nodded, picked up his glass and downed the rest. "Yep. So don't get used to it, Sophie. Even if you end up owning a dozen jets like this one day, never forget how it was when you were a broke kid. Waiting tables and taking over a shift for some entitled bitch, giving up time to train."

"I'll never forget that," she promised, hoping she hadn't slighted someone beneath her recently.

"Well. I ruined the mood," he sighed. His arm fell away as he stood. "Want another drink?"

"No." She picked up his jacket when he discarded it. Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her legs under her and lay the jacket over her lap like a blanket. "Could we watch a movie? Or—Do they have music?" she asked, twisting to locate the nearest control panel. She refused to let thoughts of his wife ruin their time together.

"Yeah, there's plenty of—" Paul cut off when the music burst from the speakers. He obviously recognized the song immediately and turned around to look at her. "Elton John?"

"I know he's a little before my time, but I've always liked his voice."

"Before your time," he muttered, and she saw him wince at the little reminder of their age difference. He left his glass on the bar and crossed over to her. Holding out his hand, he motioned with his head for her to stand.

She slipped her hand into his, sliding out of her seat to stand in front of him. Twining her fingers with his, she smiled at the feel of his other arm curling around her waist and pulling her close.

"Dance with me?" he whispered.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, because she was barefoot and they were on a plane, she nodded. Her heart did a funny little jump in her chest when he guided her into a gentle swaying. She reveled in the moment, comforted by the knowledge that no one could walk in or interrupt. She felt secure in his arms, as though nothing could hurt her. Vicious thoughts popped up, an inner voice reminding her that he could hurt her worse than anyone else. But she forced them away, pressing her face to the center of his chest. His hand moved up, pulling the cap from her head, and she heard his sigh when her curls tumbled down.

She was content to just stay there, swaying with him to the slow melody. There was no desire to waltz around the cabin. He sang along, his voice low and husky. And she felt herself melt even more with each passing second. She felt as though there were some magic in the air, a laugh bubbling up her throat when he guided her into a twirl and brought her back.

"Now you're getting fancy," she teased, squealing as he twirled her again. Swept close again, she barely drew in a breath before he lowered her into a dip. She grabbed at his arm, holding on as he brought her up.

Once on her feet, she stared up at him. Her heart tumbled over itself and, overcome, she leaned up to kiss him. Cupping his face, she loved him for leaning down to meet her. Loved that he lifted her up so she was at his height. Loved him for being so wonderful. Loved him for being romantic and caring and… She loved…

She loved him. His name a whisper, she curled her arms around him and held on while lightly kissing his lips again and again. The hand at her back pressed her closer and drew in a shaky breath. Oh, she loved him. But she couldn't say the words. Not yet. Instead, she whispered his name again, continuing to hold on while he carried her to the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again to all you lovely people for the reviews! They never fail to make me smile. A couple quick things before we get to the chapter:**

 **I just wanted to announce that I'll be updating this story on a weekly basis, starting today. So from now on you can look for updates on Friday, although what time of day it will be remains to be seen.**

 **Also, I've gotten a few questions – both via reviews and PMs – about the history of Sophia and Paul/HHH, and of Sophia and Dean. As a result, I've started writing one-shot companion pieces. The first will be put up on Monday, with future ones to be uploaded on Mondays as well.**

 **I think that's all. Again, thank you all for the reviews and support!**

* * *

Chapter Four

Paul had mentioned his condo before, but this was Sophia's first time being inside. It was just a place to hang his coat when he was spending time at the Performance Center. A second floor unit, she supposed the view of the adjacent park was lovely during the day. She saw the shadows of trees and bushes while climbing out of the car, then his hand was grasping hers, leading her up the stairs. When she walked through the door she sensed the place was rarely used. There was no stack of mail waiting to be gone through, no forgotten coffee cup on the end table. The newspaper on the kitchen table was almost two weeks old. Aside from a few pictures on a side table and a couple drawings hung on the refrigerator, there were no personal touches.

"Make yourself at home," Paul invited.

Did anyone ever truly mean those words? Sophia thought, dropping her coat, scarf, and hat onto the couch. She almost asked him but, seeing the way he scowled at his phone as he dropped their bags inside the open bedroom door, she thought better of it. Undoubtedly he was exhausted. She knew she was. Wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, she briefly kissed his back. "I'll just get ready for bed."

"I'll be there in a minute," he murmured, his hand resting over hers before she stepped away. When she stepped around him to go into the bedroom, she heard his sigh and glanced back to see his fingers tapping on the screen of his phone. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she looked around.

The bed was massive. She supposed it was king-sized, but it seemed larger to her. Standing by it, she stared at the smooth white comforter, which reminded her of a field of freshly fallen snow. She yawned against her shoulder and hoped the mattress was firm. She stretched, then wandered around the room, noting little details here and there that gave her a peek into Paul's life when he was in Florida.

There was a framed, childish drawing on the dresser, and she saw from the painstakingly neat name in the bottom right corner that it had been done by his oldest daughter. Loose change littered the dresser top, and there was a little cedar box behind the framed drawing. She thought about opening it but, deciding not to, instead eased open the top drawer. Boxers. Socks. The next drawer held rows of neatly folded white t-shirts. She looked to the closet, not sure what exactly she was looking for as she crossed to pull open the folding door.

A few suits. A row of polished dress shoes on a shelf at the floor. The rack to the left held crisp dress shirts and she let her fingers trail the sleeves. To the right was a set of shelves, each filled with workout gear. On the shelf above, out of her reach, were several shoeboxes and she saw an assortment of ties hanging from hooks near the dress shirts. There was a faint aroma of his cologne. Closing the door, she hugged herself and looked around again.

She could hear him moving around in the living room. She knew he was either texting or calling _her_. He had a tendency to pace when he did so. Seeing his suitcase next to the bedroom door where he'd dropped it, she went to move it out of the way. Before she could stop herself, she had opened it, thinking she would take his dirty laundry and put it in the hamper. Seeing a rumpled shirt lying on the top, though, she abandoned that idea and lifted it to her face, smiling when she breathed in the scent of him. Cologne and soap and perhaps the tiniest hint of perspiration.

Abandoning his suitcase, she removed her sweatshirt then peeled off her t-shirt. She listened to his footsteps, realizing he was going into the kitchen. After removing her shoes and wriggling out of her jeans, she slipped her arms into his shirt. It was warm, soft, and she was surrounded by his scent. Comforted now, she closed his suitcase and placed it on the floor next to the dresser.

She took her time turning down the covers, noting a couple paperbacks on one of the nightstands. Turning on a lamp, she switched off the overhead light and made sure her stuff didn't block the walking area before she padded out of the bedroom.

His watch was on the coffee table. His coat was on the couch. She headed into the kitchen, hesitating in the doorway when she saw him silhouetted against the open refrigerator.

"Hey," she called gently, rolling up the long sleeves so her hands would be free.

He turned to glance at her then turned around fully. She thought she saw tension in his expression but it faded away as he looked at her. "Hey," he said, his gaze roving up and down slowly.

"You don't mind, do you? I just wanted—"

"Sophie." The fridge door closed, bottles inside rattling. He rounded the table and approached her. "It looks a helluva lot better than you than it does on me."

"I'd like to argue that statement." She grinned, the heat of his voice washing over her and pooling in her belly. "So I can wear it?"

"All night long if you want to." His fingers grazed the open collar and traced down to her chest. Sophia leaned against the doorjamb, heart pounding, and arched her back. His palm, blazing hot, cupped one breast through the shirt and his thumb stroked at the already stiffening nipple.

"You okay?" she asked, catching a glimpse of weariness in his eyes.

"I am now." His lips were soft against her forehead. "Bed?"

"Bed," she agreed with a smile. His hand lowered and she caught it in hers, preceding him through the living room, where he strayed to switch off the lights. Nodding to the closed door next to the kitchen, she asked, "What's in there?"

"A little home gym."

She wasn't surprised. Standing in the middle of the living room, she heard the rattle of the deadbolt as he fastened it. Once more slipping her hand into his when he neared, she let him lead her into the bedroom. Almost giddy over the fact they would be sharing a bed that didn't belong to a hotel, she wondered if he had taken note of the occasion as well. It was the first time in months. Hectic schedules had made it impossible for him to visit her at her apartment.

He sat on the edge of the bed, giving her hand a squeeze before he leaned to plug in his phone. "Come on," he said, patting her thigh. "Get some sleep."

"What time do you have to be up in the morning?" Not bothered by the fact he wanted to sleep instead of have sex, she sat beside him and waited while he removed his shoes.

"Seven."

She didn't know how he would get through the day on about four hours of sleep. Then again, she had done it herself, sometimes on less. "Do you want me to wake up then, too?"

"You can sleep as late as you want," he murmured, standing to take off his jeans. His long-sleeved t-shirt joined them on the floor.

"Wake me up?" she requested softly, crawling over to the center of the bed and pulling up the covers. He turned off the lamp and joined her, promising he would. She settled in, yawning as he tucked his arm around her. Relaxing at his murmured affectionate words, she snuggled closer to him.

His arm grew heavy and within moments she heard his steady, deep breathing. She knew him to be a heavy sleeper so didn't think twice about lightly tapping his fingers with hers as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It wasn't completely dark, and she was thankful for that, with the moonlight peeing in around the curtains.

The sheets were fresh, still holding the aroma of fabric softener, and she wondered if he had a maid service clean the place for him regularly. She was grateful she hadn't laid down and smelled another woman's perfume. But still, she wondered how long it had been since his wife had joined him in this bed.

Had he held her close? Had he murmured sweet words while falling asleep? Or had he made love to her through the night, the need for rest be damned? Remembering all the pictures of his daughters, and the crayon art tucked here and there throughout the condo, she wondered if they had stayed here as a family. He seemed the type to not mind the kids piling up into bed to sleep with him, and she could almost see him in her mind, smiling indulgently as they all fought for a good spot.

Her heart twisted in her chest as she pictured his girls. She'd met them quite a few times backstage, and more than once at the Performance Center, where the older two seemed to take delight in diving into the foam-filled ring. They were sweet kids, especially the baby, and the first time she'd met them she had been able to see that he was a devoted father. They climbed over him, talking nonstop, and he had never taken his focus off them for a moment. They were lucky in that respect. Luckier than they probably would ever know.

It was no wonder she'd fallen in love with him.

Too late now, she thought when guilt gnawed at her stomach. She'd walked into this fully knowing who he was and who he was connected to. She supposed that first time could be chalked up as an accident. A mistake, taken too far. Closing her eyes, she remembered the way she had hugged him, how damned excited she'd been because he was willing to take a risk and put the NXT women's belt around her waist. She remembered squeezing him, promising that he wouldn't regret it, that she would be the best champion in the history of champions. How those moments had progressed to kissing him, then to having sex with him, she wasn't sure.

Yes, she'd been attracted to him for ages. Had been blown away by his presence that first night they'd met. Even half-drunk and topless, she'd known who he was. And he hadn't mentioned her nudity. He'd merely propped one shoulder against the wall and said he could wait until she showered and dressed… A gentleman, that was what she had thought of him. She'd met very few of them in her lifetime. And he'd remained a gentleman when he'd become her boss. At least, until that night he'd dropped by her apartment to share the good news.

No, even then he'd been a gentleman, encouraging and understanding and wonderful, despite her inexperience. He'd stayed, too. Waking up to find him holding her the next morning, and the way he'd reverently brought her a cup of coffee, had swept away those initial feelings that she'd been a slut.

Turning onto her back, she stared into the darkness, trying to push it all away. All those little reminders that he would never truly be hers.

His love of the business and the company. His marriage to the boss's daughter, which pretty much cemented him as the next in line to run it all. His children.

The age difference. It didn't bother her – after all, you were only as old as you felt – but she could tell from time to time that the twenty-year span bothered him. Maybe not all the time, but now and again it was obvious.

But she loved him. Even though he wasn't hers to love, she did. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she'd fallen. Perhaps it had been gradual. Or maybe she'd loved him all along and hadn't realized. Did he love her? He hadn't said the words. Neither had she. Thinking of their time the plane, when he'd merely held onto her, kissing her, she felt a pleasant warmth spread outward from her chest. The flight was a warm, hazy memory of them together on that couch, and she doubted his hands had let go of her once until they'd landed. He'd kissed her with abandon, reviving sweet romantic dreams she'd long thought dead. There hadn't been sex and, despite her secret wish to join the Mile High Club, she didn't even care. He had been there, with her, enjoying the solitude and privacy that was hard to come by, and that had been enough.

Did he love her?

He appeared to. She thought of all the times he'd just held her when she was tired and aching after a match. The way he always smiled when she walked into a room. All the times he had a cup of coffee for her. The occasional anonymous flowers arriving in hotel rooms across the country. If she were just his piece on the side, would he do all that for her?

And the sex. It was rarely fucking. He was always intent on making sure she got pleasure, even when it was a hushed quickie backstage. And there were many nights he came to her room not looking for sex. On those nights, he just wanted to hold her and talk. When he did want intimacy, he did it right. He made love to her, frequently dragging it out, always making sure she was okay if things got too rough. And he always, always held her afterwards. He'd never just finished and rolled away to get dressed. He stayed. All night.

She twisted beneath his arm, lightly resting her hand on his bare shoulder. Carefully, she trailed her hand up to lay against his cheek, holding her breath when he shifted. He pulled her closer to him. His slumber continued, and she traced his bottom lip with her thumb.

No matter what happened, it was worth it. She decided so in that moment, with his arm tightly around her and his breath fanning over her wrist.

"I love you," she whispered, needing to test the words out. He groaned softly, tilted his head, then pulled her to his chest. Tucking her head beneath his, she traced his lip again.

"Tickles," he grunted. She could just make out his eyes opening in the dim light.

"Sorry." Sophia lowered her hand.

"You okay?" he mumbled, lazily rubbing the small of her back.

"I am now," she promised, unintentionally echoing his earlier words. Kissing his shoulder, she released a soft sigh and hoped her dreams would be sweet.

* * *

 _Financials sent via fax and email. CC'd you and Vince. Hitting the ring with some of the boys._

After sending the message, Paul laid his phone down and sighed. He knew the monthly report wouldn't go over well. NXT was making money. It was raking it in really, with so many new fans dropping money for merchandise and the tours, all thanks to the Network. The brand had more exposure now than it ever had before, and there were days he secretly thought that NXT did better than the main roster, at least in the eyes of the fans.

But Vince wouldn't be happy. He would barely notice the sales of tickets and merchandise. He wouldn't care about attendance numbers. Nor would he care that Paul had added more dates to the upcoming US tour due to tickets selling out. No, Vince would flip through to the debits, and start scowling over travel costs, hotel packages, and the little incentives Paul threw in to keep the roster happy.

They hadn't needed the celebratory party after their show in Brooklyn, but they'd deserved it. Record sales and viewership called for rewards. The crew had earned a night of relaxation and fun after working so hard to please the crowd. Paul didn't regret it, and never would, but he could already hear Vince griping and starting in on how it was done in his day.

Dragging a hand down his face, he looked to his silent phone and took its silence as a good sign. He stood and left his phone behind as he left his office.

It had been almost three years, but he could occasionally catch the aroma of new paint and sawdust. When the training areas were quiet he could still hear drilling and hammering as his dream was brought to life. As he walked down the corridor leading from the offices the faces of past greats looked down at him, the framed photos interspersed with event posters and promotional photos of more recent year. At the end, propped against the wall under a photo of the Ultimate Warrior, was the newest. He looked at the serious faces on the poster, the crisp golden text denoting a date, time, and location.

Proud. He was damned proud of those kids for proving the old fogies wrong.

The training area was comfortably busy. He recognized every face, mentally tallying their strengths and weaknesses in the ring as he crossed to the practice ring set up in the center. Leaning against the apron, he looked on as Finn Bálor brought down Sami Zayn and locked in a submission hold.

Bálor didn't know yet that his life was about to change. Although he quiet Irishman seemed at home in NXT, the decision had been made that morning to move him up. Paul knew he would be excited. Hell, he was excited for him. But he worried that the man's passion and spirit for the sport would dissipate eventually. He hoped no, but he still worried.

"He'll be fine," a familiar voice behind him promised. "Stop fretting like a momma bear."

Paul chuckled, glancing over when Dusty Rhodes came to stand beside him. "I can't help it."

"I know." The familiar twang of Dusty's voice was soothing. "You look on all these young'uns as your babies. It's natural for you to want to keep them with you as long as possible. But that'n? He'll be fine. He's got a good head on his shoulders."

"He does," Paul agreed. "Are you gonna tell him?"

"It should be Jason. You know those two are as thick as thieves."

Paul nodded, thinking of the kinship that had formed between Finn and Jason Albert. "I know he'll be fine. I just don't want him to get lost in the shuffle."

"He won't." Dusty patted his shoulder. "You gotta let go of the tail so they can fly, son."

"And if they crash and burn?"

"Shit happens. Wipe your boots and move on to the next one." Dusty's eyes were on the men in the ring. "You learn a lesson or two and after a while nobody crashes."

"How'd you get so smart, old man?"

"The young'uns. They scare the ever-loving shit out of me now and then, but they all teach me a little something. It only took me a lifetime to figure out how to listen." Dusty braced his elbows on the apron. "They're lucky, son. My generation, we had to figure it all out on our own. They've got years of successes and failures to look back on and learn from. I always bitch about them all being connected to their damned cell phones all the time but those gadgets help more than I thought they would. You tell 'em they need to watch a certain match to see something and they can do it right then. Yep, they're lucky as hell."

"They've got something else you and I didn't have," Paul mused.

"Yeah?" What's that?"

"People who give a shit about them."

Dusty nodded. "Ain't that the damn truth."

"I'll find Jason and ask him to talk to Bálor," Paul said as they turned from the ring.

"When are they taking him?"

"Monday." Paul didn't know yet how they were going to introduce him, or how they would keep it a secret until he walked out. The internet, cell phones, and social media, despite how much they helped the company, could be a pain in the ass when it came to surprises. Someone might let slip that they saw a certain person backstage. Someone selfie-obsessed would post a picture of themselves with the surprise guest or unexpected return or debut. It was times like those that Paul missed the old days, when things like that were full-on surprises. When the entire arena would explode with cheers and screams due to a returning hero or new blood they'd only heard about in passing.

"Stop fretting," Dusty said again.

"I'll try," Paul promised, clapping Dusty on the shoulder. "See you around."

He had gotten Jason to the side and had just told him they wanted him to give Bálor the good news when he became aware of a new presence. He wasn't sure what, exactly, alerted him. No one called out loud greetings. There was no wave of hellos from the newcomer as they swept through. Not even a whisper of a breeze from the door opening and closing. But he knew.

Jason went off to corner Bálor and Paul turned, eyes scanning the large space until they rested on a riot of red curls across the way. Rubbing the back of his neck, he noted that she was dressed either for a workout in the gym or some practice time in the ring. She was chatting with Charlotte, hands moving expressively.

He liked to think that she'd come to see him. His precious ego wanted to believe that. But she didn't even look at him as she and Charlotte headed off together, Sophia scraping her hair back into a ponytail. Keeping his expression remote Paul watched them.

"I heard tell that a particular flower of mine will be achieving greatness very soon."

"Which flower are you talking about?" Paul asked, gaze following the two women as they approached an empty ring.

"The one being eased into a storyline with Ambrose and Reigns, of course." William Regal was reading something on his phone. "I know Charlotte will achieve greatness, but we're not quite finished with her here yet."

Paul nodded, remembering the notes he'd read on Charlotte's training. "Well, you heard right. Vince is going to put the belt on her at the Rumble."

"She deserves it." Regal slipped his phone into his pocket and looked on as the women began to warm up. "Does she know yet?"

"No, we're keeping it up our sleeve. He wants to make sure the storyline is working, and someone put a worm in his ear about the women needing proper feuds, so he wants to build that up."

"Very smart of Vince. I remember many times in the past when someone was promised a win only to have it ripped from them at the last moment."

From across the room came the sound of raucous cheers. Paul looked over in time to see Bálor jump onto Jason's back, grinning from ear to ear as his coworkers crowded around him to offer congratulations.

"Good, that's one more that's happy." Regal glanced to Paul. "Make sure this one achieves greatness too, will you?"

"I'll do my best." It was rare for Regal to go out of his way to request such a thing. Paul trusted his judgment, just as he trusted Dusty's, and never known either of the two to steer him wrong. "We'll need to do something for him."

"Celebratory dinner tomorrow night?" Regal offered. "I'll make the arrangements."

Thinking of the financial reports he'd sent in and the several messages no doubt waiting for him, Paul sighed. "Just keep it small."

He made the rounds. Despite written reports on training progress and concerns, he chatted with trainers and members of the roster. The relaxed atmosphere he and the trainers worked hard to maintain made it easier for the kids to talk to him, he supposed, and appreciated the fact that many of them were able to trust him with their worries. He watched hopefuls using a practice ring to prepare for their tryouts the next week, already mentally crossing off some of them when it became obvious their hearts weren't in it.

His last stop was the ring Sophia and Charlotte were using. Despite the differences in their statures – Charlotte was tall, lean and muscular, whereas Sophia was shorter, curvy and toned – they worked well together. And despite the fact that Charlotte had her in a leglock, the two were chatting amiably about the upcoming weekend shows. Paul leaned against the apron, face impassive, as Charlotte suggested they grab dinner the next night.

Sophia arched her back, and once more Paul was impressed by her skill as she managed to break out of the leglock. While she jumped to her feet she mentioned she already had plans, but perhaps they would be able to get lunch over the weekend. Rubbing his chin with his thumb, he looked on with interest as Sophia ran backwards. Then, springing off the ropes, she landed a dropkick just as Charlotte got to her feet. Still discussing plans to meet for a meal, she slipped into applying a Boston Crab. Within seconds Charlotte was tapping her hands rapidly against the canvas.

They broke apart, Sophia sprawling next to her friend as their discussion moved from food to the possibility of having a match together that weekend. As far as Paul knew, Sophia was booked only as special guest referee for both nights.

Moving off so he could check on a few other things, he considered having the card changed but quickly pushed the thought from his mind. She would know he'd interfered. He didn't know how she'd know, but she would. And then a fiery speech about fairness and letting all the women on the roster have a moment to shine would erupt from her. Followed by an unapologetic apology when she remembered he could do what he wanted. Then a glare and a reminder that she didn't want favoritism.

She'd dressed him down once, when he'd arranged for her to keep the belt longer than originally planned. She was looking forward to losing to Bayley, because damnit, Bayley deserved it. And she didn't want him giving her what she called the "Cena treatment" just because of what they had going on. He could still remember the alarmed little squawk she'd made when she'd looked at him. Could still remember the way her cheeks had flamed. But she'd held her ground, managing to apologize while making him promise her that Bayley would get the title. After that, he'd made damn sure to not interfere in whatever plans were made for her.

She didn't want preferential treatment just because they were secretly together. She hadn't expanded on that but he'd understood it well. She didn't sleep with him because he could further her career. A few times, in the beginning, he had thought she was. After all, why the hell else would she be interested in him? That first time had to have been her way of showing how grateful she was for the chance at the title. The self-doubt had been new and had plagued him for a while, until the night she'd said she just wanted him to hold her.

There had been a storm that night. Whenever there was a storm, she just wanted to be held.

That was the night he'd realized that it was more. More than just sex. Much more than just a quick, satisfying release. Because he hadn't minded just holding her. He hadn't minded having her cuddled close to him while a mindless action movie played on TV. And he still didn't mind those occasions. If anything, he looked forward to holding her, storm or not.

"Why so serious?"

Dragging a hand down his face, he turned to face Sophia. She was sipping from a bottle of water. "What?"

"You were looking awfully pensive. All those reports finally give you a headache?" she asked.

"No, I was just thinking." _About you_ , he added silently, meeting her eyes.

Her bright green eyes widened slightly. Clearing her throat, she looked down at her water bottle then back at him. "I… Just wanted to let you know that I brought those keys you mentioned last night."

"What?" Baffled, he furrowed his brow. "What keys?"

"The, um, spare rental key and hotel keys. From Chicago?" Her eyebrows rose and her head tilted forward slightly, as though waiting for him to understand. "I'm about to go for a run with Bayley and Charlotte, so I'll just leave the envelope on your desk, okay?"

"Yeah… Sure," he answered, still having no idea what she was talking about. "I'll get them later."

"See you around," she said, her voice holding the musical tone of promise.

With a shake of his head, he went in the opposite direction to meet Bálor.

Two hours later, sweaty and ready for a shower, he stopped in his office momentarily. Out of habit he picked up his phone and winced at the messages and missed calls from Stephanie. He was about to call her back when he saw the envelope in the center of his desk. Picking it up, he recognized Sophia's loopy handwriting on the front and, letting it bounce in his hand, felt that something heavier than a letter was inside. Rental and hotel keys? What had she been talking about? Even on the off chance she'd forgotten to turn them in when checking out, he wasn't the person to give them to.

Setting his phone aside he opened the envelope, looking at the two brass keys that fell onto his blotter. A folded slip of paper was inside, letting him know the smaller key was for the lobby and the larger for her apartment. An address was written at the bottom, the letter S in the bottom right corner. Looking at the keys again, he felt his lips curve into a smile.

He smiled throughout his call to Stephanie, who was irritated he hadn't answered her first call immediately. He smiled while reading Vince's grouchy email. And, once the keys were safely on his keychain and the note tucked in his wallet, he continued to smile as he headed for the shower.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews. Hope you're still enjoying the story. :)**

Chapter Five

"We really should get out of bed."

"We already did." Sophia propped her head up on one hand, fighting a smile. "Twice."

"Getting breakfast and using the bathroom then getting back into the bed doesn't count," Paul said. But he showed no sign of moving.

That could have been because her leg lay over his, though. Not that he couldn't easily push it away. Or just roll out from under it. Sophia pushed herself up and settled over him, closing her eyes briefly at the feel of the sheet sliding down her body. "And what do you propose we do when we get out of bed?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, rearranging the sheet slightly before gently grasping her waist. "Take a shower. Fix lunch."

"Mmm. Veg out on the couch until time for dinner?" she suggested.

"Brilliant plan, sweetie." His fingers lightly caressed her.

"After that I suppose we could do the adult thing and clean up after ourselves." Looking to the dishes that littered her nightstand, she wrinkled her nose. She wasn't the neatest person in the world, but having him around made her want to keep things tidy. Not that he had ever seemed to mind the occasional pile of dirty laundry on the floor or a sink full of dirty dishes.

When he'd arrived the night before, he hadn't shown a sign of irritation when she told him her only set of sheets were in the wash. Nor had he complained that they were taking forever. Of course, their lovemaking in the shower had caused the delay. It had been with still-wet hair and shaky thighs that she'd made her way down to the laundry room. Once the sheets had finally been dry and the bed finally made they'd gotten to work unmaking it.

"We could," he was saying. His hand pressed against her back and she instantly bent forward, lips parting in anticipation of his kiss. Feeling as though she moved in slow-motion, she returned his sweet kiss, holding onto his wrist when one hand moved to gently cup her cheek.

"Then we can come back to bed?" she asked, breaking the kiss so she could draw a breath. "And get back to work destroying my mattress?"

"It's going to take a while to do that."

"Why?" She shifted over him, felt him growing thick and hard against her backside.

"Because this is a sturdy fucking mattress." The hand on her waist tightened its grip.

"It better fucking be, as much as I spent on it." She pushed her lips to his. Feeling him shift, she moaned at the sensation of his cock pressing against her. She felt a sense of power that just a series of gentle kisses could bring about such a reaction from his body.

"Killing me," he mumbled against her lips.

"Then I'd better stop," she sighed, wriggling her hips. She gently nipped his bottom lip then slid off him. Just as she reached the opposite side of the bed his hand clamped around her ankle. Squealing as she was dragged back, she managed to twist around onto her back and stared up at him with what she hoped was an expression of innocent outrage. "Paul!"

He said nothing, hands trailing up her legs, then her sides, and along the lengths of her arms. Twining their fingers, he leaned in to kiss her, and her façade of naivety crumbled. She was pinned beneath him and could only kiss him back, enjoying the warmth that began to spread throughout her body. Just as she managed to slide her legs over his thighs he ceased kissing her, and gave her hands a gentle squeeze before rolling away.

"Killing me," she groaned, giving his shoulder a push then sliding off the bed. Grabbing the yoga pants and t-shirt she'd discarded the night before, she wriggled into them and ignored his amused chuckle. A glance in the mirror proved her hair was beyond saving until she could shower and condition it. Pulling it back into a loose ponytail, she met Paul's eyes in the mirror when his arm slipped around her from behind.

"Just giving you a taste of your own medicine." He dropped a kiss on her shoulder.

"Yeah, I know, paybacks can be a bitch." Giggling at the feel of him gently biting the side of her neck, she shied away from the ticklish touch. "What do you want for lunch?"

"Are you offering to cook?" His hand lazily stroked her side, drawing her close again. "Because we can just order in—"

"I like cooking for you." She did. She would never call herself a fantastic cook, but she had a few versatile dishes perfected. And she always enjoyed watching him enjoy her cooking. Even when he grumbled about carbs or fat or sugar, he never failed to clear his plate and compliment her cooking in the sweetest of ways. As boring as it may have sounded to anyone else, to her it gave their relationship just a little more legitimacy. "Go take a shower. I'll make the bed and get lunch started."

"You're not going to join me?" he asked, and she saw one eyebrow lift in surprise.

"If I did, we'd never eat." She turned her head and caught his lips in a quick kiss before he straightened. "Plus, I'm hungry."

As though to justify the statement, her stomach gave a low rumble. He chuckled, arm squeezing her close before he released her. "I know better than to get between you and food."

She rolled her eyes, then unabashedly watched him go into the bathroom. Chewing on her bottom lip as she gazed at his naked body, she had second thoughts about not joining him. But her stomach gave another rumble and, once more firm in her decision, she was grateful when he closed the door behind him. She rushed through making the bed, haphazardly throwing the scattered pillows atop the comforter before leaving the room.

She'd left her phone and laptop in the living room to charge and, carrying her phone to the kitchen, saw she had a few messages from Dean. They had come through the night before, and she was pretty sure she'd already gotten in bed by the time they'd been sent. Taking note of the current time, she mentally calculated the difference and, assuming he would be awake, sent him a message saying she'd made an early night.

After taking out ingredients for chicken and rice, she went back to the bedroom to gather the breakfast dishes and coffee cups. Through the closed door she heard the shower water just starting. She eased the door open, thinking of the cup of coffee she'd taken in the bathroom earlier. The shower curtain was still open and she picked up the cup while watching Paul adjust the water temperature. "Chicken and rice sound good?"

"Sounds great to me."

"Take your time in here. I'm just getting the dishes so they can soak while I start cooking."

Leaving the door open, she headed once again for the kitchen, gently dropping the stack of plates and cups into the sink as her phone began to vibrate against the counter. She wiped her fingers on a dishtowel and read the screen.

 _Why the hell didn't you have your phone at your ear so you could text me? Didn't I teach you anything?_

Snorting, she considered asking him when she'd become his submissive little slave. But that would lead to a barrage of sexual innuendoes that she had no time for at the moment. Instead, she insisted she'd been tired and wouldn't have heard her phone anyway. Then she turned the hot water on in the sink.

 _Whatever. You busy today?_

She waited until she had chopped an onion and started sautéing it in the pan before replying. _Staying in for a lazy day. What about you?_

She had time to measure out rice and shred the chicken breasts she'd precooked the previous day before he answered. _Kind of lazy. Wanna Skype?_

Biting her lip, she considered for a moment. Paul would take as long a shower as possible. Nothing like steam and hot water for aching muscles, he would say. And Dean rarely stayed on Skype for long. Besides, she'd be able to keep Paul from speaking or walking in the camera's range if he came out before she and Dean finished talking. _Sure, give me a minute to get my laptop._

No more messages came through, and her laptop had barely started up when Skype began to screech with an incoming call. Connecting, she leaned to stir the onions and tossed in some chopped celery.

"Oh, joy of joys, it's the ceiling light!" Dean enthused. "Goddamn, it's been too long. How you been, man?"

"You fucking smartass," she groaned, leaning back so she would be in view. Tilting the screen back slightly, she threw up one hand in a wave. And, even though she recognized the couch he was sitting on as his, she had to tease. "What desperate whore's living room are you using to talk to me, and does she know?"

He scowled. "I don't go for desperate whores, Soph."

"Your history begs to differ. But maybe I should ask what desperate whore you've got passed out in your bed while you talk to me?"

Dean grinned, giving her a thumbs up then tucking an unlit cigarette into the corner of his mouth. "No whores today, sorry. Besides, I stopped bringing 'em back to mine. They start getting ideas – Stop glaring at me. You can't even smell it."

True, but she still wrinkled her nose as he lit the cigarette and a puff of smoke screened him briefly. "What kind of ideas do they start getting?" she asked, knowing it would be useless to complain about the cigarettes. She could only be grateful he didn't smoke around her. At least, not anymore.

"The kind of ideas about my place needing a woman's touch." He made a face, obviously still proud of the fact that his apartment was practically barren. "But enough about me. Can we talk about how you're looking like you just got fucked?"

"Dean!"

"What? It's true. You've got sex hair."

"Dean, I've got frizzy, curly hair. I've _always_ got sex hair."

"Liar. So, did you?"

"Did I what?" She stirred the onions and celery again, hoping her webcam wasn't picking up her flushed cheeks.

"Just get fucked."

Thinking about the past hour, she slowly shook her head. "No, I didn't just get fucked."

"Then you got fucked good last night?" He chuckled. "Is he still there?"

"None of your business," she reminded in a singsong voice.

"Which means yes." He tilted his head back and blew smoke at the ceiling. "Are you cooking?"

"Chicken and rice." She stepped over to the stove, rolling her eyes when Dean greeted the ceiling light again, and added thin slices of mushrooms to the pan.

"That shit is the best. Especially when you cheat and use real cream in it."

Smiling, she picked up the pint of heavy cream and held it out so he would see it. She laughed when he gave a moan of appreciation, setting down the carton and reaching for broth to add to the vegetables. "If I'm ever approached by a fan of yours and they ask me how to seduce you, I'll tell them to cook for you."

"Be sure and tell them that heating up a can of Chef Boyardee doesn't count."

"Hang on." She looked in the direction of the bedroom, certain she'd heard movement. Stepping into the living room, she was relieved to hear the shower still running. "Sorry, I thought I heard someone at the door," she lied once back in front of her laptop.

"You know, it's okay for me to see him. Not like I can pull the big brother act from two thousand miles away. Besides, it's one of the guys, right?" Dean sat up straighter. "I'm probably already friends with him. I'm friends with pretty much everybody. People love me!"

"Stop." She had her eyes on the pan, waiting for the broth to start simmering. "What did you do yesterday?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes at the blatant change of topic. Leaning back, he pulled up his t-shirt, pointing out a wide red scrape than ran from just below his nipple down to his hip.

"Jesus. What stupid thing did you do?"

"I went for a hike and ate dirt. I thought I'd die—"

"Did you get it checked out?"

"Soph—"

"If you didn't get it properly cleaned before it scabbed over, you could get infected—"

"Hey," he shouted, laughing when she clamped her lips together. "I rinsed it with my water then came straight home and showered, alright? It burned like fuck this morning but Neosporin is helping. I'll get Amann to double-check it tomorrow if it's still bothering me."

"But—"

"Soph, I'm fine. Stop acting like a mother hen."

"Someone needs to."

"Well, if lover-lips won't care, come out here and nurse me back to health yourself."

She snorted on a laugh. "Nice try, Ambrose."

"So that's a no?" he sighed.

"I have no desire to come visit you and get my hair ripped out by your latest flavor. I still have a scar from the last time."

"Soph. You almost broke her nose."

"She deserved it for calling me her replacement – Hang on," she grunted, pushing away from the counter and taking the pan off the stove. She didn't feel like digging out her blender so she mashed the tender cooked vegetables as best she could by hand with a manual chopper, then reached for another pan to prepare the creamy thickener. Once it was bubbly and thick she dropped the shredded chicken into it and covered the pan. Reaching to start the rice, she then picked up the laptop and went into the living room so she could sit comfortably.

She bit back a gasp upon seeing Paul's jacket lying over the back of the couch. Keeping the webcam aimed at the ceiling, she pushed away the evidence of her visitor before settling down. "Where were we?"

"You almost broke her nose because she called you her replacement." At her look of confusion, he laughed. "Forget about it. And don't worry about my road rash. I've had worse."

"I know." Shifting so she could spread out, she propped the laptop on her thighs. "Which house show circuit are you on this weekend?"

"I'm heading to Oregon tonight. Where are you going to be?"

"NXT shows here in Florida. I'll be in Seattle Monday. Well, I'm flying out Sunday."

"Is lover-lips flying with you?"

"Please stop calling him that." She tilted her head, looking at Dean's face shrewdly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He mirrored her expression. "Are you?"

"I'm a-okay."

"Florida still treating you right?" he asked. She could hear him stubbing out his cigarette.

"It was cold yesterday. I had to wear sweatpants."

"Soph, you wear sweatpants when it's a hundred degrees out."

She rolled her eyes, knowing he was thinking of her visit to Vegas last summer. "Yes, but yesterday I had to wear them or I would have frozen my tits off—"

From behind her came the sound of a drawer in the bedroom opening then closing. Dean was saying something about tits. She wasn't sure if he was talking about tits in general or just hers, and didn't bother to pay attention, instead listening to the sounds of Paul moving around the bedroom She tilted the screen of her laptop down, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

"Sophie, didn't I leave my shir—" Paul cut off when she snapped her head around and gave him a frantic look. He held one hand up as though to show surrender, the other holding a towel closed at his hip.

"That's great, Dean," she enthused loudly. Fearing what her friend's expression would be if she turned back to look at the screen, she cleared her throat and gestured towards her bedroom. She remembered Paul leaving behind more than a few of his shirts. "If it's not in your drawer, look in the top left one with my pajamas. It may be hanging in the closet. I know I've washed it."

"Top left or the closet," he muttered with a nod. "Thanks."

Slowly, she turned back to the screen, sinking down guiltily once the bedroom door was safely closed. Rubbing her face with one hand, she managed a charming smile. "What were you saying?"

"That him? I didn't recognize the voice." Dean looked perturbed at the very idea that he hadn't been able to figure out who her guest was. Then he scowled. "He leaves shit at your house?"

"Just a shirt or two. You know I'm a sucker for a man's t-shirt. I've got at least a dozen of yours," she reminded, hoping to start him off on a tangent about the many, many, many shirts she'd stolen from him over the past few years. He'd once blamed her for his lack of shirts, as though he didn't have a tendency to wear them until they were beyond rescue then tossing them. "Which reminds me, I got your newest one from Merch the other day and—"

"Was he wearing just a towel?" Dean blurted, his expression one of horror. "Christ. At least I know it's not Rollins, though."

"And just how the hell do you know that?"

"'Cause whoever it was isn't skinny as fuck." Dean shrugged and then stretched, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he, too, could be considered skinny. "Plus, his ass is still in Iowa."

She nodded, thinking of the long months that would pass before Seth returned to the ring. "How you can know how skinny or thick he is from just seeing… What did you see?"

"Scared I saw too much?" he inquired, lips curving into a devious grin. When she glared at him he chuckled. "I didn't see shit but your big head and someone with a towel. Stop freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out—"

"Does he treat you right?" Dean asked softly.

"He—What?" she grunted, taken aback by the sudden quietness in his tone.

"Does he treat you right? I mean, aside from the obvious great sex." Before she could retort, he held up a finger. "If it wasn't so great, he wouldn't be just getting out of the shower."

"Ugh," she groaned. Then, thinking on his question, she found herself nodding. "He treats me like a queen." _When he can,_ she thought, immediately brushing away the negative voice.

"Nothing creepy or weird? He hasn't shown you his playroom or anything?"

"No," she laughed with a roll of her eyes. "No hamsters hiding out in the corner, no leash and collar hanging above his bed."

"For the last time, I put that there as a joke!" Dean's levity was brief. His expression shifted to seriousness, and there was warmth as he regarded her for a moment. "He makes you happy, doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Sophia couldn't help the small smile as she thought of Paul. "He does."

"Then that's all that matters."

She thought she saw a touch of sadness before he glanced down. When he looked back up it was gone, and she was certain she'd imagined it. Besides, why would he be sad?

"I better let you go. Don't want lover-lips to get jealous."

"Of you?" The idea was absurd, but she held back a laugh. Cocky and swaggering though Dean was, she knew he would be insulted. "No worries there, Ambrose. He knows we're friends."

"Funny, he knows me and you are friends, but I don't even know who—"

"I'm gonna go now," she announced. Sitting up straight, she waved at the screen. "I'll see you in Seattle on Monday."

"Have fun at the NXT shows, alright? And be safe driving."

"You, too." Blowing him a kiss, she ended the connection. Was it just her imagination, or had he looked sad again? Surely her imagination. Dean was never sad. Not even when he'd learned about the plans to split up The Shield. She had been a little heartbroken, but Dean had been brimming with excitement over how the three of them would continue to progress. Besides, if Dean was worried or sad or upset he'd show it differently. And to be sure, he'd let her know.

Wouldn't he?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Another thank you to everyone for following, favoriting, and reviewing! Words cannot express how much it all means to me. This has been a rough week for me, and as a result this chapter is a bit shorter. It's also a bit late - but it's still Friday where I am! :) There will be another one-shot companion posted on Monday. (Note that my rough week may extend into next week as well so the posting may be done on Tuesday. Apologies in advance!) Enjoy. :)**

Chapter Six

All too soon for Sophia's taste, Sunday arrived. Her mind had created dreamy fairy-tale images of the day: bright shafts of sunlight as she and Paul unhurriedly made love, followed by a leisurely brunch in bed. Then a luxurious shower before they went to the airport. A wonderful idea, she'd thought on Saturday night while curling close to Paul's side.

Instead of being lured from dreamland by the seductive kisses she'd imagined, though, she was jarred awake by a booming crash outside. Ripped from a nonsensical dream involving Deadpool and a zombie giraffe, it took her a breathless moment to realize what was going on. A flash of lightning illuminated the room briefly. She felt the panic rise in her throat and managed a shaky inhale just before the thunder cracked.

Next to her, Paul stirred. Just when his hand landed gently on her arm she began to kick at the covers. His soft question was lost in another crash of thunder, and he drew away.

She gasped when the lamp was turned on. Blinking, she struggled to control her breathing. "The curtains," she hissed, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around them to keep the shaking at bay. She saw a bright streak of lightning pierce the night sky and couldn't help the whimper. "Please—"

He was already crossing the room, and his body blocked her view of the outside. The curtains were closed and she hugged her knees closer while he made sure there were no gaps. When he returned to the bed his fingers swept over her cheek before guiding her chin up.

Meeting his gaze, she saw the worry. She'd seen it before. In fact, she'd seen that worry each time he'd been with her during a storm. And she'd seen it on the days after the storms he hadn't been able to spend with her. Flinching when thunder rolled like a bass drum, seeming to shake the building, she tried to look away. But she couldn't.

"Sophie," he murmured sadly once the thunder had rumbled away. There was more on its way, she was certain, but for now there was just the sudden rush of rain falling, splashing against the windows.

"I'm such a baby," she said.

"No. Babies are scared of the noise, but they're easily comforted through it." His fingers were feather-soft as they nudged locks of hair behind her ears. "You're not scared of storms during the day."

"I know," she whispered. And she wasn't. As long as daylight was waiting behind the clouds, she was fine. It was only at night that the terror took hold.

"Can you tell me?" he asked. "Do you want to go into the kitchen—"

"No!" she cried, then pressed her face to her knees.

He stiffened, and she expected him to pull away. Instead, though, he began to gently smooth her hair. Her name was a tender whisper filled with kindness.

After a moment she raised her head. "Can we go into the living room?" she asked, recognizing the stupidity of the question as the words left her. It was her damn apartment. If she wanted to sit in the living room, she could. But Paul merely nodded, got to his feet, and held out his hand. It was several moments before she could move from her spot in the center of the bed. He was there, waiting, his face etched with concern, when she slipped her hand into his. And when thunder rumbled, making her falter, he gathered her close and carried her from the bedroom.

The couch still bore the evidence of their time spent watching movies earlier. There were blankets in an untidy heap, and the few throw pillows were still stacked at one end. Paul set her next to the pillows, then brought the softest blanket over her bare legs.

"Tell me what you need," he said softly, squatting in front of her.

"I don't know," she whispered, rubbing at her eyes to get rid of the tears that had started to well.

"Talk to me, Sophie."

"Don't!" she exclaimed, lurching back at the feel of his hand on her knee. Even though she knew it was Paul, even though she knew she was perfectly safe, she couldn't calm the terror that kept rising.

"I'm sorry—"

"Please don't." She buried her face in her hands, struggling to keep from crying when thunder vibrated its way through the room.

Instead of his concerned voice, she heard breathless grunts. She could no longer feel the soft blanket; her fingers were clawing at scarred wood. There was pressure on the back of her head, rough denim at the backs of her thighs.

A dead mouse in the dusty corner. Beneath her cheek the desk was sticky. She could smell Old Spice. She could taste blood on her tongue.

"Sophie."

"No, no, no," she whimpered, fighting to draw in a clear breath. She felt her throat closing up and the resulting fear caused her to barely manage shallow breaths. Curling into a ball, she clenched her eyes shut. The need to flee was as great as her need for breath. But she couldn't get away. The terror would only follow her. She would never get away. There was no use in even trying.

* * *

Heart thudding anxiously, Paul watched in horror as Sophia went still on the couch. He could stand her obvious terror no longer and, saying her name as gently as possible, reached for her. She was so tense he feared she would break if he touched her. His hand hesitated above her for a moment before he finally placed it on her shoulder.

"Oh, Sophie," he sighed, feeling his heart wrench when her sob filled the room. Instantly he moved to sit next to her, managing to keep his voice calm despite the panic rising within him. She didn't protest when brought the blanket over her again, if she even noticed at all. Gently, he rubbed her shoulder.

Each time he thought her breathing was about to normalize a crack of thunder sounded outside and the rapid, shallow breaths resumed. Murmuring reassuringly, even though he felt utterly lost, he tucked he blanket snugly around her. He thought of his daughters, and how there had been a period of night terrors. He'd felt lost then too, as his youngest baby screamed and cried over something only she could see while appearing to be wide awake.

Remembering how he had finally managed to calm her down, he turned his attention fully to Sophia and reached for another blanket. After spreading it on the floor and transferring her to it, he stood, softly promising he would be right back. In the kitchen, it took forever for the water in her old-fashioned kettle to boil, and he spent the time pacing from the stove to the living room to check on her and back again. Once armed with a cup of sweet and strong hot tea, he returned to her side. She was still whimpering, her knuckles white as she gripped her upper arms.

The first thing he did was tuck the blanket around her, until she was wrapped up inside. Somehow he managed to break the grip she had on her arms, and after pressing tender kisses to her trembling fingers he lifted her back onto the couch.

"It's okay," he promised, holding her close. He hoped he was doing the right thing. She remained motionless and stiff for so long he began to fear he would need to call someone. But, after what seemed like hours had passed, he felt her start to relax. Continuing to stroke her hair, he closed his eyes and frowned when she released a strangled sob. "Shh," he attempted to soothe, lips brushing her cool forehead. "You're okay."

She clutched the blanket and brought it tighter around her. When he reached for the tea she accepted it with a sniffle, taking tiny sips while she shivered in his arms. The tea was still warm, and after several moments she pushed the empty mug into his hand.

He shoved it onto the cluttered coffee table, releasing a deep breath of relief as she curled closer to him. Letting the silence carry on, he noted that the storm was lessening. Thunder was now a low rumble, lightning a faint flicker in the window. Content to just hold her, he didn't object the way she tucked her head on his chest. Waiting until the latest rolling thunder faded away, he suppressed a tired yawn and gently rubbed her back.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He knew she wasn't thanking him for the cuddle and the tea. "You alright?"

She nodded. Her head tilted back and he saw utter exhaustion in her eyes. "I'm okay." There was evidence of tears on her cheeks. He reached up to smooth them away with his thumb, and one corner of her mouth lifted. "That was a bad one."

"Do they happen often?" he asked softly, releasing his hold on her when she made to stand.

She didn't answer, instead seemingly focused on wrapping up in the blanket once she was on her feet. Eyes downcast, she stilled when he stood to help her. She flashed him a brief smile, which turned into a grimace as another round of thunder began in the distance. Mumbling under her breath, she turned to head into the bedroom.

He decided not to question her more. It was obvious the attack – for that was what it had been – had zapped nearly all her energy and left her bewildered. Following her, he frowned at the sight of her sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed and shoulders rounded in defeat. Drawing in a deep breath, he moved to look out the window. The storm seemed to have rolled away. Making sure the curtain was fully closed, just in case, he turned back to the bed.

She was still sitting on the edge. He didn't miss the tiny flinch she gave when thunder rumbled in the distance. Praying the rest of the night would be quiet for her, he straightened the covers as best he could, fluffed her pillows, and waited until she'd settled in before joining her.

"Try to get some sleep, sweetie." Paul reached for her, relief flooding him when she immediately moved to cuddle close. "You want me to leave the light on?"

She didn't answer immediately. After a few moments passed, her hand swept over his cheek, followed by her thumb grazing his lips. Her sigh filled the room and she tucked her head against his chest, pressing close. "No," she answered softly. "Just hold me?"

"All night," he promised while reaching to turn off the lamp. Her fingers curled slightly against his side but she immediately relaxed them, his name a faint whisper that caressed his skin. Pressing his face into her hair, he brought her closer.

Late the next morning, Sophia packed in silence. Paul tried to draw her into conversation, but after several monosyllable answers he gave up. She still looked exhausted, despite sleeping so soundly after her attack of horror. Not liking the downtrodden expression on her face when he pointed out she'd packed one of her sheets, he finally left her to it, murmuring that he needed to make a few calls. He did so, checking in at home and with a few producers, mainly to give Sophia time to herself.

As soon as he ended the last call, he forgot everything that had been said. He stared at the partially open bedroom door and sighed. Surely she didn't expect him to just forget about the night before?

Apparently she did, for when he went in she began rattling off a list of things she needed to do before leaving. There was trash to take down. The one plant she hadn't killed yet needed watering. She had to check the laundry room and make sure none of her things were there. She'd once lost a new pair of jeans by not checking, didn't he remember? Oh, and the kitchen floor really needed sweeping.

He'd ask her on the flight. With a nod, he saw to gathering the two small bags of trash and then watered the meager plant that clung to life in the kitchen window. She practically ran out the door to check the laundry room, and while she was gone he swept the kitchen and stacked their bags at the door. She came back empty handed and before she could slip away to find something else that needs doing he caught her arm and pulled her close for a hug.

"Are you okay?" he asked, biting the inside of his lip when she didn't return his embrace. A moment passed, and he released his breath in a rush when she slipped her arms around his waist. "Sophie, baby, talk to me."

"I'm okay. Really."

He had to ask. "Last night… What brought that on?"

She was shaking her head. "You wouldn't understand."

"I can't if you don't talk to me about it."

"I just can't, Paul. Please don't ask me to."

With a sigh, he nodded, letting go of her.

As they'd done countless times, they rode separately to the airport, he arriving half an hour before she did. He could only hope his expression when they met up past security was half as convincing as hers. She seemed genuinely surprised to see him, and he was once again impressed by her acting abilities.

To his frustration, Finn Bálor was on the flight as well, and the Irishman quickly switched to the empty seat next to Sophia. Seated a few rows behind them, Paul caught only snippets of their chatter. He perked up a bit when he heard her laughter as the plane took off. He was just grateful that she could laugh after the night she'd had.

In Portland, he overheard her accept Finn's offer of sharing a ride, and watched the two head out of the airport side by side. Finn said something, leaning close to her, and Paul had to remind himself that she and the man were just friends.

He tried not to think of her spending time with other men. It only caused jealousy to flare. He knew he had nothing to worry about, if indeed he had a right to worry at all. She'd blatantly told him that he was the only one she'd been intimate with since that first time in her old apartment. Still, he worried. She was surrounded by good looking eligible men, many of whom had given her much more than a passing glance. He'd witnessed it himself, as well as how she simply ignored them. But, what if…?

At the arena for the house show, he was able to put thoughts or her to the side, plunging himself into work and preparations for the next day's Raw. He was stepping out of his makeshift office when several of the roster arrived. Sharing greetings as they shuffled by in the organized chaos of the backstage area, his eyes scanned the space. Spying Ambrose heading down the corridor with Roman, he lifted his chin in greeting.

He would know about Sophia's attacks and what brought them on. He would know why storms scared her at the age of twenty-six. He would know what should be done to keep her from sinking too far into the depression and anxiety that gripped her. He probably knew how to snap her out of it quickly.

Paul considered pulling the younger man aside and questioning him. He was certain he could arrange his questions in a way that wouldn't make him suspicious. But still, he didn't dare. Ambrose was a little too sly. He would find a tiny hole and ask too many questions of his own until the hole spread and Paul's bullshit background fell apart. Plus, there was the risk that he would later talk to Sophia about it. So, he stayed where he was, face an impassive mask as Ambrose strolled by.

He was about to retreat back into his office and finish another round of emails when he spied a flash of red hair. Feigning interest in his phone, he watched from the corner of his eye as she maneuvered through her coworkers and the crates stacked here and there. He didn't hear her call Dean's name but the man turned, face lighting expectantly.

When he saw her, though, his expression changed to worry. Paul wondered how the man could tell something was wrong. The two practically crashed together in a hug. Dean's backpack fell to the floor. His lips were moving; Sophia was shaking her head. Even Roman seemed to know what was going on, having scooped up the fallen backpack and cupped a hand on Sophia's shoulder. But it was Dean that she apparently needed the most. With Roman carrying Dean's luggage behind them, the two moved down the hallway, Dean's arm tucked securely around Sophia's shoulders and his head close to hers.

And Paul was left feeling alone.

Worried.

Afraid.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Happy Friday! Thanks to all for the reviews and everything. I apologize for the lack of a one-shot this week. Real life got a little bit too crazy for me to focus on anything but this chapter. The one-shot will be up soon, perhaps Monday. (No promises!) Also, I rarely chat about the current things going on in WWE but HOLY CRAP HOW ABOUT LAST WEEK'S RAW? I'm already hyped for WrestleMania!**

 **Hope you all enjoy! :)**

Chapter Seven

"You sure you're okay now?" Dean asked, stepping out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

From her position in the center of the bed, Sophia curved her lips into a reassuring smile. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Then why aren't you with lover-lips?"

She bit her lip, hesitating while he stepped back into the bathroom and began to vigorously brush his teeth. Wondering how she could get out of trying to explain to Dean that her "lover-lips" couldn't possibly understand what had happened the night before, she unlocked her phone and read the last few messages from Paul.

 _Vince and Steph arrived. Can't get away. Will talk tomorrow._

 _If you need me, I'll get away somehow._

 _I'm sorry._

The last message had been repeated twice; first when she had been asking Roman if she could hitch a ride with he and Dean to Seattle, the second when she had just finished checking into the hotel. She'd replied each time, reassuring him that she understood, which she did. That she would be alright, which she hoped. That she would dream of him, which she was certain of. Now, though, she found herself wishing she'd begged him to get away long enough to hold her for a few minutes. Long enough for a kiss.

Long enough to soothe the ache that had manifested in her arms for him.

"Well?" Dean demanded, slapping the wall next to the door. She jumped in surprise and he raised his eyebrows comically high. "How come you're not with him?"

"We don't have to be up each other's ass all day and night," she defended.

"Yeah, but—" He cut off, ducked back into the bathroom, and she heard him spit into the skin. He came back immediately, wiping the foam of toothpaste from his chin. "You had a bad night. He should be with you."

"Dean—"

"He does know you had a bad night, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but—"

"Was he with you?"

Groaning, she slumped back and flopped an arm over her eyes. "Dean, I swear to God! I wanted to be with you."

"Me?" His voice was muffled, and a second later she heard him gargling in the bathroom.

She waited until she heard the light switch click, signaling that he was done in the bathroom for the night. "Yes, you."

"…Why?"

She felt the mattress dip, then he was yanking on the blanket and sheet beneath her. Grunting at his less-than-gentle handling, she rolled off the bed and unbuttoned her jeans. She had no second thoughts as she wiggled out of them and kicked them aside, nor did she think twice about snatching up the t-shirt he'd removed before taking his shower. Removing her own shirt, she kept her back to the bed while unclasping her bra and then slipped Dean's shirt on, sighing at the scent of him.

It was different from Paul. She knew they wore the same cologne – when Dean wore cologne, of course – but she supposed their body chemistries contrasted. Plus, Dean always had the faint lingering odor of cigarettes. She hated the smell, and even now wrinkled her nose as she caught a hint of it, but kept the shirt on. It wasn't overly offensive, nowhere near as bad as it had when they'd first met. Besides, he'd showered and had just brushed his teeth so the smell would be faint. She could deal.

She ducked into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. When she returned to the bed, Dean was sitting up reading. Taking note of the book's title, she crawled into bed next to him, propped herself against the pillows, and reached for her phone. No new messages. She set it aside, asked Dean to double-check his alarm for the morning, and leaned to retrieve the book she'd tucked into her purse. Once settled, with only the sound of the occasional turning of a page, she felt herself relax completely.

"This is nice," she murmured after a few moments. The novel she'd grabbed in the airport wasn't grabbing her attention, but she decided to stick with it.

"Mm-hmm." Dean tucked a finger between the pages of his book and looked to her. "Not much time for reading when lover-lips is staying, huh?"

"We stayed in the other night and read," she said, a smile pulling at her lips when she recalled the hours spent sprawled on the couch with Paul. "And stop calling him lover-lips!"

"What should I call him, then? You won't tell me his name." Dean made a show of reopening his book. "For instance, take this book I'm reading here."

"The newest Captain Underpants?" she guessed.

"No, it's – Fuck you," he grunted. "Anyway, as I was saying, the author—"

"Dr. Seuss?"

"Y'know, I never liked his books. The style was just creepy and weird. When I was a kid I liked the stories and rhymes. And I get that the illustrations were supposed to be fun and whimsical, but they weren't to me. They looked like something out of a nightmare."

Sophia blinked in surprise. "Really? Dr. Seuss gave you the creeps?"

"Just the illustrations," he reminded. "Even now, they're like visions on a bad acid trip or something. I can't explain it."

"No, I get it," she assured. "I was like that about the Berenstain Bears."

Dean tilted his head. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Really, Soph? That sweet little bear family freaked you out?"

"Yeah. They weren't creepy, and the illustrations were pretty good. But the family? I couldn't connect to them. They were like Leave it to Beaver in a way. Too perfect. Oh yeah they had their fights and whatever but it was all worked out calmly." She shrugged. "I didn't know how to associate with that."

"I know," he sighed. "But you didn't even like them for escape?"

"Nah. Sister with her annoying hair bow and Mama with her tired old blue dress. And Papa was always stupid. And don't even start on Brother, who was just there. Plus they had Brother and Sister sharing a room. Creepy much?"

"I've seen creepier."

"So have I." Her voice was flat and she couldn't help it. She didn't even try to, and pushed her boring book away. Drawing in a deep breath, she released it in a loud rush. "Why do you think I'm still so fucked up when it storms?"

"I'm no psychiatrist, but I think it's because it was storming that night."

She stared at the ceiling, aware of him moving beside her as he put his book away and settled back. "It was storming both nights."

"I didn't know that." His arm came around her. He didn't pull or guide or even nudge, but she slid closer to him until her head was tucked on his bare shoulder.

"He asked me this morning why I screamed 'no' to going into the kitchen." She'd deflected the question, as she had his subsequent questions, by thinking of things she needed to do before leaving. Closing her eyes, she saw the worry and confusion on his face.

"Did you tell him?"

She shook her head. "He wouldn't understand."

"How do you know?" Dean asked quietly.

"I just know. He doesn't come from... That. And..." Sighing, she shifted around so she could look at his face. "What if I tell him about it and he sees me differently? What if he treats me differently? What if he gets weirded out and doesn't want to see me anymore?"

"If he's smart that shit won't matter. Yeah, he might be a little weird at first but he should come to realize that all the shit that happened made you who you are now." Dean's finger found a curl and began to toy with it. "Guys like to be protective, right? At least, the right guys do. It's just in our nature. So yeah, he may be a little different for a while. That's why you need to talk to him about it, explain that it doesn't define you. It helped you become the amazingly spirited woman you are right now, but you don't center your life around two fucking assholes who thought they owned you."

"Oh Dean," she sighed, touched by his speech. Then, chewing on her lip, she twisted her fingers in the hem of the shirt she wore. "Sometimes I feel like they still own me."

"Soph... Why?"

"Because," she answered. "Because every time it storms at night they win again. Every time I think I'm truly safe they come to me and ruin my dreams. And they remind me that I'm broken and fucked up and it scares me. I can't tell the man I love about them because it might scare him away."

"They haven't fucking—You love him?"

She was sure she imagined the pain in his voice. He was tired, of course his voice would sound pained. If she didn't know better she would think he was just trying to get her to go to sleep so she'd leave him alone. But he was sitting up. He tugged on the curl wound around his finger and she smiled. "Yeah," she answered finally, letting her thoughts move to Paul. Enjoying the warmth the thoughts brought to her, she smiled wider. "I love him."

"Oh." He cleared his throat, hand dropping to her shoulder. It gave a quick squeeze. "Anyway, they haven't fucking won. They never will. 'Cause I know you won't let them."

"Dean—"

"And... If he loves you, nothing will scare him away," Dean promised, callused palm grazing her neck before cupping her cheek.

"You think so?"

"I know so. Trust me, Soph. If it's not him, somewhere there's a guy who'd give up everything to be with you. A guy who won't judge your past and will love you no matter what." His voice was soft but the feeling behind his words brought tears to her eyes. "Don't cry, babes. You know it's true."

"How?" she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. His thumb brushed away a tear before it could fall, and then his lips where on her forehead in a soothing caress.

"How? Do you not know how fucking lovable you are?" he whispered against her forehead before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Any guy would be a fool not to love you."

"You make it sound like—" Sophia paused when his lips hovered near hers. She could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, could smell the minty mouthwash he'd used. She opened her eyes, instinctively tracing her lips with her tongue as she caught the intensity of his blue eyes. "...Dean?

"Soph. I—" His lips were closer, and she could almost feel them on hers. His eyes slid closed, his hand slid into her hair.

The screeching of her phone filled the room. Within an instant Dean had ripped away from her as though he'd been burned and before she could draw in a shaky breath he was off the bed and across the room, one hand dragging anxiously through his hair. She thought she heard him mutter something but he'd walked into the bathroom. Shaken by his swift change in attitude, she crawled over to retrieve her phone.

 _Can you talk?_

Chewing on her bottom lip, she looked up when the bathroom door slammed shut. She flinched at the sound and tentatively called Dean's name.

It was a few moments before he reappeared, wearing the jeans he'd taken off before his shower. He looked around the room, finally yanking a shirt from his open suitcase and pulling it on. She almost pointed out that it was backwards but he made a sound of disgust and righted it, yanking his hoodie off the foot of the bed. Back to her, he sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes.

"Dean?"

"I just remembered that Ro wanted to grab a couple drinks tonight. You don't mind, right?"

"Of course not." She wasn't about to ask to go along, either. A blind person could have seen that he didn't want to be with her at the moment. Wondering what she'd done, she looked down when her phone beeped again. She answered Paul's question in the affirmative, balanced her phone on her knee. "You—"

"I'll go." As though he had just made the decision. Her phone began to ring, the ringtone she'd set for Paul – an old Frank Sinatra song – and she saw Dean's shoulders tense. In seconds he was on his feet, phone in hand and grabbing the key off the nightstand. "I'll leave you to your call."

"Okay." Her phone continued to ring. She watched him cross to the door, waiting for his usual parting words.

But he said nothing else, merely muttered a quick goodbye while staring at his phone's screen.

Finally tapping to accept the call, Sophia lifted the phone to her ear and watched Dean wrench the door open. "Hey, babe..." Her focus shifted to Paul and she felt herself relax as his deep voice apologized again. "I'm sorry too..."

Paul's next words were lost in the sound of the door snapping shut behind Dean.

* * *

In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was doing. The girl was cute, sure. Her figure was cute, too – soft in all the right places. Her tits were a little on the small side for his taste but a man couldn't have everything. But her voice was soft and held a bit of a Southern twang.

Because she was originally from Nashville. Or Memphis? Maybe Oklahoma. Wherever she was from, she'd lived in Portland for almost ten years now but still considered herself a country girl.

Not that any of that mattered. If she kept leaning in and giving him that saucy smile he'd soon have a prime candidate to take upstairs to his room. Where he could fuck his stress away.

But maybe he was being too hasty, he thought, lips poised at the rim of his next glass of Jack. Roman had yet to show up despite several texts. Probably making sure that hair number three hundred and seventy-two was in its proper place before coming down. Once he did get down to the bar, Dean knew he'd just throw a couple back, dole out a handful of panty-dropping smiles, then saunter back upstairs with the best looking chick in the room on his arm.

If he didn't love him so much he'd hate the bastard for his luck.

Eyes focusing on the women other than the country girl – what was her name? Tammy? Tanya? – he sipped at his whiskey. He noted her scooting closer, pretended not to notice when her hand fell to his thigh possessively, and his gaze landed on a couple across the bar. Tammy-Tanya was blathering on about her years as a beauty pageant zombie. He briefly considered her wearing nothing but a tiara and one of those sash things, but the thoughts fell away as he looked to the couple again.

The woman looked sad. She had her head bent and was picking at the label on her bottle of beer. The man with her was going on about something, his face a fixed scowl as he shouted at the waitress to bring him another fucking drink.

Asshole, Dean decided, tossing back the rest of his drink. Tammy-Tanya scooted even closer, until her tits were pushing against his arm. A lost cause now, he thought sourly, thinking of Sophia. He had no doubt she was still in his room, still in his t-shirt, still in his bed. Phone call from lover-lips or not, she wouldn't leave without telling him so. And his phone remained devoid of messages from her.

She was probably too busy phone-sexing it up with _him_.

"Another," he muttered to the bartender when the man neared. Pushing his glass over, he looked on dispassionately while it was refilled, vaguely aware of Tammy-Tanya stroking his thigh.

"Don't you want to get out of here?" she asked hopefully.

Oh, right. Mentally cursing the way his cock stirred to life, he motioned for the bartender to leave the bottle. Maybe he'd get a case of whiskey dick and be able to push her off with promises of meeting up next time he was in town. At least that way he'd be able to get away without telling her about the woman in his room.

Because that would lead to questions. Questions he didn't want to answer; questions he didn't have the answers to.

"In a minute," he murmured. Sure, it was stalling, but he had a drink to enjoy. And he had a friend coming down to chat with, if the Samoan bastard ever decided to make an appearance. Covering Tammy-Tanya's hand with his, he nudged it closer to his knee, eyes moving back to the couple when a glass clattering against the table sounded like a gunshot.

At least, to him it did. Nobody else seemed to notice it. The sound had rankled his nerves, though, and before he could talk himself out of it he turned on his stool and glared at the asshole.

"Hey, jackass, y'mind keeping it down?" he called, eyes narrowing when he saw the woman was the one mopping up the mess. "Some of us are trying to relax, alright?"

"Fuck off." The asshole rolled his eyes and muttered something to the woman, who nodded shakily while dealing with a handful of damp napkins. But Dean saw her flinch when the guy jerked a hand up to signal for the waitress. He knew that flinch; had witnessed it himself countless times over the past few years. She was talking softly, so softly Dean couldn't catch any of the words, but he knew in his heart what they were.

 _Please don't make a scene. Just get another drink and finish it so we can go back to our room._

"Would you watch what you're doing? You're pushing it into my lap!" His chair scraped back and he stood, indicating a miniscule spot on his pants. He snatched a dry napkin up and began to wipe at the spot. "Can't you do one thing right?" Scoffing, he bumped into the table, which sent the beer bottle toppling in her direction. Her cry of dismay filled the bar.

"Hey," Dean called, pushing Tammy-Tanya's hand away and sliding off his stool. Nobody else seemed willing to stand up to the jackass. Probably because it was close to closing time and everyone there was either trying to get wasted or trying to get a piece of ass for the night. Crossing to the small table, where the woman was fighting tears as she tried to mop up beer with sodden napkins, he met the man's irritated gaze. "You shouldn't pick on her, man."

"Look, buddy, just go back to your hooker at the bar and mind your own damned business."

"Tim—"

"Shut up."

Dean's fingers twitched at his side. "Tim, man, I'm not your buddy." He turned his gaze to the woman. "Is this asshole your husband?"

She shook her head.

"Boyfriend?"

She nodded.

Dean gave her his most dazzling smile. "Sweetheart, you can do _so_ much better." He swiveled back to Tim. "You. You think it's fun to pick on a woman, huh?"

"It's not my fault she's clumsy and stupid."

"Oh, she's clumsy and stupid." Dean threw up his hands and nodded as though he'd heard the greatest bit of wisdom in the world. "And you're obviously intelligent and sure-footed, right?"

"Exactly. Now will you go?"

"Why? Do you need to teach her a lesson?" he asked, dropping his voice. "Do you need to show her why it's not a good idea for her to make a fool of you in public?"

Tim's beady eyes narrowed. "Anna, we're leaving."

"Aww, Tim, we were just getting to know each other," Dean lamented.

"No, we weren't."

"Sure we were! See, I know you're an asshole that likes to pick apart a woman's psyche. It's the only way you can get a woman as attractive as Anna here. She probably has low self-esteem for some reason – no offense, ma'am – and you latched onto that like a newborn puppy onto its mama's tit. See? I know a lot about you." Dean paused when the waitress appeared, and eyed the drink on her small tray. He plucked it up, drained it in one gulp, then slapped the glass back onto the tray. "Thanks, doll, you can put that on my tab. Now, Tim, back to us knowing each other. Well, let's make it even. My name's Dean. I don't currently have a girlfriend. Long story there, we'll have to get together again to go over that. Anyway, I consider myself an okay guy, but I know an asshole when I see an asshole, which probably makes me an asshole myself. But you know what?"

Tim sighed. "What?"

"I draw the line at bullying women. Especially sweet girls like Anna here. Now, on behalf of all the sweet girls you've been an asshole to, I'd like to give you a gift."

Before Tim could open his mouth to reply, Dean swung his fist. It connected, and was immediately reciprocated. Grunting when Tim's fist landed on his jaw, he geared himself up for a good fight. Only to holler in confusion when he was dragged backwards.

"Christ, man, calm down!" Roman growled when Dean struggled to break free of his grasp.

"Oh now you show up?!" Dean complained, reaching to rub at his aching jaw. A few feet away Tim was holding a hand over his eye, and two men were standing close. In case he decided to start the fight up again, Dean figured, groaning when he tasted his own blood.

"What the—" Roman cut off when the bartender stepped in front of them. The man looked stressed but not too upset about the altercation.

"Gentleman," he began, and Dean snorted. Clearing his throat, the bartender forged on. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What about them?" Dean demanded, pointing towards Tim. Leaning to one side so he could see around the bartender, he widened his eyes in surprise when he saw that Tammy-Tanya had pulled Anna to the side and they were whispering rapidly.

"He won't press charges, and he'll be leaving as soon as he's settled his tab." The bartender glanced over his shoulder then looked back to Dean and Roman. "Just between us, I think he'll be leaving alone. And there's the matter of your tab, sir."

Dean nodded, more irritated now than he had been a few moments before. He retrieved his wallet, passed over a few bills. Scowling when he saw Tammy-Tanya guiding Anna out of the bar, he looked to Roman and grunted, "Let's go."

"What the hell brought that on?" Roman sighed when they were outside in the chilly air.

Dean hunched his shoulders, cupping one hand around his lighter so he could make a flame. Waiting until he'd lit his cigarette and taken several drags, he rubbed at his jaw again. "He was being an asshole."

"And you were upset that he'd taken over your title?" Roman asked, stepping to one side to avoid the plume of cigarette smoke.

"Ah, fuck," Dean muttered. He'd have to shower again. There was no way Sophia would sleep in the same bed as him if he reeked of cigarettes. Taking one more deep drag, he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stamped on it. "Now I gotta shower again."

"Okay?"

"Soph. She's crashing in my room tonight and you know how she hates a fucking cig—"

"She was heading down the hall when I left my room to come meet you," Roman interrupted.

"Huh?"

"She said something about getting back to her room. I carried her bags for her," Roman added.

"Huh. She didn't..." Dean's voice trailed as he felt his pockets to find his phone. Pulling it out, he saw a missed call from Sophia and a text saying she was going to be alright and had gone to her own room. Frowning, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Goddamnit!"

"Now what?"

"I went for whiskey dick for nothing! I had Tammy-Tanya-whatever her fucking name was primed to go up with me and remembered Sophia was there. Shit," he raged, kicking the nearby trashcan.

"Dean, what the fuck is going on with you tonight?"

"I had to stop 'em from hurting her," Dean mumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and glaring at the ground.

"The guy in the bar? I think you succeeded. She left with that other woman—"

"I know." Dean closed his eyes. Trust Roman to not understand. Leaning against the outer wall of the hotel, he sighed.

"You can't save them all you know," Roman pointed out gently.

"No shit."

"And never forget you saved Sophie."

Dean nodded, not wanting to get into that discussion. He hadn't saved her. Not really. By the time he'd stumbled into her life she'd already been fucked over a few times. Thinking on Roman's words, he felt something in the back of his mind start to whir. Since when did Roman call her Sophie? He opened his mouth to ask, but Roman was gently clapping his shoulder.

"Let's get back inside, alright?"

Sophie. Roman called her Sophie. And Sophia was worried because her lover-lips might not understand her background. Letting Roman lead him inside and to the elevator, he felt the beginnings of a headache as his whiskey softened brain began to piece things together. Roman had experienced a pretty solid, well-to-do childhood. He probably wouldn't understand the abuse and neglect and other nightmares that Sophia had suffered. At least, not at first.

"Hey," he announced once they were on the elevator. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not officially," Roman replied. "Why?"

"What's that mean? Not officially. Either you are or you're not."

"It means there's someone I've seen a few times and spent some time with, but you know." Roman shrugged, eyes on the ceiling. "It's not serious yet."

"But you want it to be."

"Yeah." Roman gave another little shrug, but he was smiling now.

It was just like the smile on Sophia's face when she'd said she was in love with lover-lips.

Could it be Roman? He hadn't gotten a very good look at the guy before Sophia had jerked the webcam down. And the voice had been a little muffled. He supposed it could be... Something in the back of his brain wiggled and annoyed but wouldn't push itself out, so he looked to his friend critically. He supposed the dude was alright. He was quiet. Respectful of women. Polite.

But he already knew about her past. At least, most of it. So why would he be bothered about it? Maybe her panic attack had been one of her worst. He'd never been around during one of those. Dean shivered just remembering those nights, when Sophia had been catatonic while the demons in her mind took over. If Roman witnessed that, it stood to reason that he would be a little freaked out.

Then why the secrecy? Didn't they know he'd be happy that two of his best friends had found love with each other? He'd be over the moon for Sophia, because it would mean the protection and extended love of the monstrous Anoa'i family. They'd welcomed him with open arms, and there was no doubt that they would trip over each other to make Sophia feel comfortable and welcome in their collective arms. Yeah, she deserved that, and so much more.

And yeah, he guessed Roman deserved all the sweetness and light and shirt-stealing and late-night cuddling that Sophia had to offer, too.

By the time he stepped off the elevator, he was practically grinning. For some reason the idea of her being with Roman didn't make his chest ache so much as it did when he thought of her with any of the other guys. Already mentally planning how he could slip into the godfather position of their future children, he gave his friend a sappy hug and sauntered towards his room.

It was colder without her in the room. Although he didn't have to, he took a quick shower to wash the cigarette smell and the Tammy-Tanya grime away then crawled into bed. He sent Sophia a good-night text, hoping the winking emoji wasn't too stupid. Settling back, he smiled up at the ceiling. He was happy. His best friends were starting up something good, and he would totally be able to take credit for it.

He was happy.

Alone, but happy.

Horny and lonely and bored. But happy.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Happy Friday! Hope all of you are well. Thank you everyone who read and reviewed "Shattered" earlier this week. I'm not sure when the next one-shot will be up, but I do have a few in the works. And thank you to everyone who continues to read and review this story. It honestly makes my day knowing that people enjoy this fic. I hope you all have a fabulous weekend!**

Chapter Eight

Making her way through the chaos that was backstage of Monday Night Raw, Sophia turned sideways to slip between stacked crates. She'd discovered the shortcut earlier, having been late for the mandatory talent meeting that afternoon. Luckily for her, several others had been late as well, so she'd only been included in the group that was chewed out by Stephanie, not singled out for a berating. Now, on her way to get into position for a segment, she was on time but didn't want to risk anything. Live television being what it was, anything could happen. And Vince would do more than berate her if she wasn't ready to be filmed walking down the hallway before her match.

She made it to the proper hallway with more than enough time to spare, and spent the ensuing moments making sure that her gear was in place and her ponytail was neat. Smoothing her hands over the deep purple boy-cut shorts, she adjusted the waistband slightly before reaching to straighten the straps of her matching cropped tank. Her ponytail was as neat as she could manage without a hair stylist and two cans of hairspray, so she left it alone, wrinkling her nose when a makeup artist appeared seemingly from nowhere and swept a brush loaded with powder over her face.

A few doors down she could see Dean waiting for his cue. He returned her wave, then she lost sight of him as the bright light of the camera switched on. Wetting her lips, she drew in a deep breath and shifted all her attention onto her onscreen persona. The segment was supposed to be brief, and end with Dean stopping her to make sure she was alright after the week before.

She still wasn't sure about the storyline they were being thrust into, but so far it seemed to be going well. Besides, it could be dropped or changed with only a moment's notice. She was just glad it was nudging her into a feud, and looked forward to working more with Nikki Bella. Knowing that the Royal Rumble was coming up made her nervous, for now there was a chance they'd put the Divas' belt on her.

The production assistant just behind the camera held up four fingers to signal the countdown and, pasting a smile on her face, she jogged in place before heading forward in a bouncing walk. She ignored the camera and it's light, eyes moving side to side so she could greet members of the crew that loitered. She made sure to send a few glances behind her because she was supposed to be a little leery after the attack the week before, and lurched to a stop when Dean called her name.

Despite their distance from the crowd, she heard their roar of approval as soon as he stepped into the camera's view. He was in his usual gear of jeans and a black tank top. Droplets of water that he'd used on his hair had fallen and glistened on his shoulders.

"Hey," he greeted with a quick smile. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you're okay after last week."

"It'll take more than a bump on the head to keep me down," she assured, reaching to touch the back of her head, guessing as to where she was supposed to have been hit. "I've been meaning to find you and thank you for helping me…" Her smile became shy. "But you're a hard man to get hold of."

"Oh, I'm always around," he promised. He rubbed the back of his head, and it took all of her willpower to keep from giggling, for he suddenly resembled a bashful teenage boy talking to his crush.

"I'll remember that. I better—"

"I know you've got a match—"

"So I'll see you later?"

She met his eyes as they spoke the last line of the script together, catching the hopefulness in his gaze. Holding his gaze for a few seconds longer, she bit her lip.

"Yeah, later," she answered with a nod, flashing another smile before continuing down the hall. As soon as she heard the call that they were clear, she turned to walk back to Dean and gently pushed his shoulder. "What's this I hear about you getting into a fight in a bar?"

"How the fuck did you hear about that?" he questioned in return, brow furrowing. His face quickly cleared, though, and he nodded "Roman."

"Roman," she echoed, nodding. "Seriously? What the hell?"

"It wasn't a fight! It was just two punches."

"Just two punches," she deadpanned.

"Little ones." He raised a hand and held his index finger and thumb a hairsbreadth apart. "Hardly even worth mentioning."

"I call bullshit, or Ro wouldn't have mentioned it. Dean, that's not like you. Even when you're drunk you don't do shit like that."

He groaned, glancing to the ceiling as though it would give him guidance. "He was an asshole, Soph."

Sighing, she tried to fight the pout she felt forming. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"Nah," he drawled. "Just a little bite to the side of my tongue."

"And the other guy?"

"I'm pretty sure he's got a good shiner by now."

"You and that fucking right cross," she muttered, having been caught by it more than once. Never purposefully. Only the times she'd managed to get him into the ring to go over some finer points with her. However, she doubted he'd stopped everything and apologized nonstop to the asshole in the bar… Leaning up to kiss his cheek, she wrinkled her nose at the feel of his stubble against her lips. "Time for your monthly shave, Ambrose."

"Soon." He shrugged. "Oh, Ro's having a quick meeting with Vince and Trips."

"Okay?"

"I figured you'd want to know." He eyed her curiously. "Or did you already know?"

"No… And considering he and I aren't attached at the hip, I don't see how... I gotta go," she said, catching sight of a production assistant waving to her. "Are you gonna watch my match?"

"Yeah, probably. Knock 'em dead, Soph."

Their fists met briefly and then she ran to make her entrance. She was doing her usual bounce in the center of the ring when Nikki came out with a microphone, playing the perfect bitch while announcing she had been the one that attacked Sophia the week before. She even slipped in a jibe about Dean helping her out, hinting that none of the other Divas gave a damn about her.

The match went well, despite Brie constantly screeching support to her twin. At the planned time Brie jumped up on the apron and Sophia landed an elbow to her chest to knock her down and distract Nikki then performed her least favorite move: a roll-up pin. The fans were cheering though, and she exited the ring quickly, grinning while she backed up the ring and the Bella Twins screeched at the referee, who'd missed Sophia's striking of Brie. Once the screen behind her switched to a commercial for the network she went backstage, nearly crashing into a figure waiting just behind the curtain.

"Paul," she blurted in surprise when his sure hands caught her shoulders.

"Sorry," he murmured. Guiding her to the side, he let his hands fall to his sides. "Just wanted to let you know there will be a rematch tomorrow night. There's a stipulation that might interest you."

"Okay," she said, taking one of the chilled bottles of water from the nearby stand. Keenly aware of others' presence in the Gorilla, she kept her face neutral. "What's the stipulation?"

"If you win, you face Nikki at the Rumble."

She froze, water bottle halfway to her mouth. Blinking, she lowered the bottle and parted her lips. "Me?" she squeaked. Clearing her throat, she raised the bottle and took a hasty swig before trying again. "Me?"

"The one and only."

"For the belt?" she clarified.

"Of course." He grinned, obviously enjoying her astonishment. "I can't make any promises beyond that, but—"

"Am I winning tomorrow night?" she interrupted softly.

"As things stand right now… Yes." His fingers brushed over her left hand briefly. "Again, I can't make any promises beyond that."

"I know. Everything changes every day here," she murmured, feeling tears threaten to well in her eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, she bit down on her bottom lip. She couldn't help but picture herself holding the belt up in victory. She couldn't help but imagine its weight around her waist during the lead-up to WrestleMania.

"Please don't cry," he whispered.

"I can't help it," she managed. Pressing her lips together, she drew in another breath and released it slowly. She wouldn't cry. At least, not now. She'd let the excitement of the possibilities overcome her in the shower. Meeting his brown eyes, she held his gaze for as long as possible, although she was certain he already understood the emotions running through her mind. "Thank you."

"I didn't—"

"I know," she broke in, taking a tiny sip of water. After her last outburst about his possibly helping her when it came to airtime, she knew in her heart he wouldn't have tried to push her above the other women. "I know."

"No tears?"

"Not right now."

"And you're okay?"

The words brought back the previous night, when he'd managed to slip away to see her. A mere hour of his time, but she'd treasured each moment. Her talk with Dean had boosted her confidence. And she'd promised Paul that when they had the time she would explain things to him. Soon, she hoped, just to get it over with. Thinking of his breathless kisses and secure embrace, she felt warmed from head to toe.

"I'm okay." And she was. She cast a glance around and, keeping her voice low, asked, "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Five," he answered. It was the only time. Those who rose early for pre-dawn workouts would be gone, and the others would still be in bed. How long they'd have, she wasn't sure. But she was used to it now. The heady days in Florida had been an anomaly.

"I'll be waiting."

"I'll text you." His fingers brushed her hand again. After a meaningful look, he stepped away.

* * *

Utter confusion over a series of texts brought Sophia to the men's locker room just after the show ended. She made sure to wait in the hallway, knowing better than to just barge in with no warning. Wrestlers, especially the males, had no sense of modesty whatsoever, and she was not in the mood for finding out who was packing and who wasn't.

Roman came out first, neat and put together as always after a show. He smiled upon seeing her. "What brings you to this side of the arena? Too much talk about false eyelashes and weave again?"

"No, it's—Actually, yes, they've been going on and on and on and on about some new hot brand of… Something. I tuned them out. For all I know I've missed out on an awesome brand of sweats. Anyway, where's Dean?"

"He just hopped in the shower." Roman maneuvered his suitcase out of the way and leaned against it. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. He's just been acting weird. He gave me step-by-step texts about you getting ready to leave. I know I'm supposed to ride with you guys but really? Since when have I ever been the one to keep y'all waiting?"

"He's been acting weird with me too." Roman shrugged. "Who knows with that guy?"

"It's just bugging me. Anyway, I came to tell you that I'm riding with Finn tonight."

"Did you see the reaction he got?" Roman chuckled. "I've never gotten that."

"Oh stop," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "You have before and you will again. Fans are fickle as fuck, remember?"

"Always have been, always will be," Roman recited, and they both grinned at the familiar words they'd heard from Dusty Rhodes. "I think Finn's gone out already."

"Yeah, we're meeting out back in about five minutes. Just wanted to let you know not to look for me. And maybe with me gone you can pick Ambrose's brain to find out what's up with him?"

"I'm a man with the patience of a saint but, Sophie, even I ain't that patient." Straightening, Roman glanced at his watch. "You go on, I'll let him know. He was saying something about catching a ride with somebody else."

"See? Weird." Sophia shook her head in confusion. "I'll see you tomorrow. Drive safe."

"Always." His arm looped around her in a quick hug then quickly released her. Nudging the locker room door open, he hollered, "Ambrose! Time to fucking go!"

Sophia laughed, able to picture Dean's scowl. The man hated being rushed. "Bye," she called while turning to leave. She heard Roman echo the statement, then hurried to meet Finn at the rear entrance.

Even if Dean hadn't been acting completely bizarre, she was sure she would have opted to carpool with Finn. True, he was a few years older than her, but for some reason she tended to look on him as younger. It probably had to do with the air of innocence the Irishman had around him. Which was a complete façade, she'd learned after knowing him only a short time, but it fit him well. And she had a feeling that despite his many years of experience traveling the world that he would still need to get his bearings adjusting to life on the main roster.

The fact that he was great company had a little something to do with her decision, too.

Tucking her arm through his when she found him waiting at the door, she adjusted the strap of her backpack and, grabbing the handle of her suitcase, let him lead her outside.

"Cold," she grumbled, wishing she hadn't stuffed her warmest coat into her suitcase.

"Not that cold," Finn commented when she gave a dramatic shiver.

"You're weird," she announced, glancing at the thin hoodie he wore over a t-shirt.

"Says the woman with wet hair complaining about being cold," he returned.

"It'll dry," she defended. Yet another thing she could say was Dean's fault. If he hadn't kept blowing up her phone letting her know every little thing Roman was doing, she probably would have been able to use her hair dryer instead of giving her hair a quick squeeze with a towel. "You want me to drive?"

"I'm fine. Besides, I—" he cut off, glancing across the parking lot and throwing up his hand to wave at the fans calling his name. "Do we have time to go over, you think?"

"If you want. It's just a few." Slipping her arm from his, she parked her suitcase next to the car and looked to him. "It's you they want. I'll warm the car up—"

"Sophia!"

"They want you, too," Finn pointed out, placing his things next to hers. "If your hair freezes it's your own fault."

"It's not that cold!"

Laughing, they crossed to the fans. Sophia let Finn go first, knowing despite the fans calling to her that he was the one they really wanted to see. After watching him a moment she stepped up to the barricade. A security guard hired by the arena hovered nearby, but the fans were polite and kept their words brief. She signed programs, leaned close for selfies.

"Are you dating Sophia?" a female fan towards the end of the group asked loudly.

Sophia glanced up from signing a program, ready to open her mouth and answer definitively. But, seeing Finn's lips spreading in a grin she kept quiet.

"Can you call it dating if you've asked and the lady hasn't said yes yet?" he inquired. "I'm hoping to sway her with my charm while we ride out to the next city. Keep your fingers crossed for me, will you? And start thinking of a cute couple name."

"You're terrible," Sophia laughed a few moments later as they crossed back to the car.

"How so?" Finn pulled the car keys out of his pocket and unlocked the trunk. "Did I forget a fan?"

"No. I'm talking about the way you answered that question. Really? You realize it'll be all over twitter and Instagram and whatever else before we can get out of the parking lot?"

"Ah, it's just a little fun. What's with fans? They see a man and woman together in public or sharing a ride and it automatically means they're dating. Can't men and women just be friends?" While he spoke he stowed their luggage in the car. Closing the trunk with a thump, he frowned. "I hope I didn't insult you—"

"Oh, get in the car, Romeo," she sighed. "I'm freezing."

"Your fault," he taunted as they walked to opposite sides of the car.

Once inside and waiting for the heat to start, she rubbed her hands together. "You didn't insult me, by the way. And yes, men and women can just friends."

"I hope so, considering that's what we are." Finn had his phone out and before she could comprehend what he was doing, he leaned close to her and told her to smile. She did so automatically, only to squawk when she heard the click of his phone's camera. "What should I put? First date nerves? Wish me luck, lads?"

"I haven't said yes to a first date, you goon!"

"Wish me luck it is," he decided with a laugh. He glanced up from his phone and she felt the first hint of heat coming through the vents. "Okay with you?"

"What the hell," she decided, digging in her purse for her own phone. "Do you even follow me?"

There was a brief silence from him. Then, he muttered, "I do now."

"Stalker," she teased. Waiting for Twitter to load, she laughed when it did and the first thing she saw was Finn's tweet. She liked and retweeted it, then turned her phone to silent and stowed it in the cup holder.

"Right, let's go," Finn announced.

She knew better than to strike up a conversation while he made his way out of the parking lot and through the downtown area to reach the interstate. She'd ridden with enough men over the past few years to know that if she talked, she would get the blame if he made a wrong turn. Or maybe it was just Dean that did that? Looking out the window, she thought of the times they'd been going on about something and he'd ended up on dead end street or the opposite end of town from where they needed to be. Always her fault. Somehow she doubted Finn would be distracted enough to make a wrong turn, but she kept quiet just in case.

He was the one who spoke first, while waiting at a red light. "Seriously, are you dating anyone?"

"Yes," she answered. No need to lie. Biting her lip, she surged on before he could ask who. "But it's complicated."

"Does he stay in Florida?"

"No…" Sophia tucked one leg beneath her and shifted until she was comfortable. "I mean, he's in the company. It's just—"

"Complicated. I understand."

She doubted he did. She doubted he'd understand if he knew the full truth about her relationship status. "What about you?"

"I date, just not seriously. It's hard to find a girl that'll be happy staying in building Lego with me on a Saturday night."

Sophia remembered him discussing his love for Lego before. "Why Lego?"

"It's a little puzzle that I can figure out. I like getting a set and going through the pieces and figuring out what goes where. And I like that if I wanted to I could make something completely different. I can either follow the rules or make my own path." He stopped at another red light. "I got a pirate ship for my birthday last year that I still haven't finished. All the lads brought a set for me to my party."

"I remember hearing that your birthday party turned into a Lego building party," she said with a chuckle. "I can understand why you enjoy them, though."

"Did you like them as a kid?" he asked while she unbuckled her seatbelt long enough to remove her hoodie.

"Lego? Or birthday parties?"

"Both," he laughed.

"I would play with Lego once in a while, but it was never really my thing. And I never had a birthday party."

Finn stared at her for so long he missed the fact the light turned green. Making a sound of disgust when a car behind him blared its horn, he looked to the road and resumed driving down the street. "You're joking."

Sophia shook her head. "Nope. Never had one."

"Not even as a child?"

"There wasn't enough money," she said, echoing her mother and stepfather's answers when she'd asked so many years ago.

"But surely you've thrown one for yourself," he protested.

"I… No. I never really thought of it." She tilted her head curiously when he looked at her with an expression of shock.

"Well then, that's settled." He reached for his phone.

"What's settled?" she asked in confusion. About to remind him that texting while driving was illegal, she kept quiet when she remembered she did it herself. Looking on while he tapped furiously at his screen, she bounced her knee impatiently. "What—"

"I'm throwing you a party."

"But my birthday isn't for months!"

"Doesn't matter. I've asked Nattie to help." He glanced from the road to his phone then to her. "You need a theme."

"Wait, what?"

"Lass, you've missed out on one of the most important aspects of childhood. So, pick a theme for your party."

"I don't know what…" Looking at the road for a moment, she shrugged. "Black and white?"

He groaned. "No, no. It's your first birthday party so it has to be something you would have loved as a child. Princesses? Ponies?"

"You're serious."

"Absolutely." He glanced to his phone again. "Nattie's on board. Pick a theme."

"I don't—" Sophia cut off when her phone buzzed wildly in the cup holder. Picking it up, she opened the new message and blinked in surprise as she read Nattie's text. Tears welled and she drew in a breath, unable to believe someone cared enough about the fact she'd never had a birthday party. "…She's going to the party store first thing in the morning."

"Which is why you need to pick a theme."

She released a shaky laugh. "I honestly don't care. Well. Just not Minions. Those little bastards give me the creeps."

He chuckled, thumb flying over his phone's screen again. "Don't worry none, lass. What's your favorite kind of cake?"

"Strawberry."

"Ice cream?"

"Vanilla."

"Grand. Now think on a theme. Oh, you're not scared of balloons are you?"

"No," she answered with a laugh. Then, thumb hovering over her screen, she cleared her throat. "Just no clown, okay?"

"No clowns," he promised, stowing his phone in the cup holder.

She was silent for several moments, trying to come up with a sequence of words to send Nattie that would express her gratefulness. Finally she settled for a simple "thank you" and said she would pick a couple themes and let Nattie choose. After sending the message, she sighed. "How can you do this if it's not my birthday?"

"Don't worry about that. Who do you want to invite?"

"I don't know where it's going to be—"

"Nattie's having it at her place. We'll keep it small.

She recalled several parties at Nattie's house, all allegedly small. All had been standing room only with a bulk of the partygoers spilling out onto the lawn. "How small?"

"No more than a dozen, I should think." He grinned. "Look up themes."

Rolling her eyes, she opened the browser and began searching for birthday party themes. "You know Nattie's going to go all out."

"Aye. Isn't it grand?"

"Balloons and streamers and noisemakers and those pointy little hats."

"I promise not to snap the elastic on your chin. Oh, Nattie said to text her a guest list."

"You two are unbelievable," she sighed, scrolling through a party store's website. "If you ever want to take over the world, just ask her to help you."

"We'll do that after we give you your birthday party."

"Are you going to take me to Disney World next?" she joked. "Because I've never gone there, either."

Finn's hands slammed against the steering wheel, causing her to lurch in surprise. "Christ, Sophia," he groaned, glancing to her as he merged onto the interstate. "Do I have to give you a whole new childhood?"

"I didn't really have one," she murmured, surprised when he reached over and squeezed her hand in sympathy.

"Don't worry," he said soothingly. "You've got some amazing friends who'll make sure you have a blast."

"I know, but—"

"And the lack of a proper childhood doesn't make you any less amazing than you are."

"Thank you, but—"

"I know I don't know all that happened to you, but I'm sure it could have been a lot worse. And you seem to have your head screwed on straight."

"That's sweet of you to say, but—"

"Besides, you're friends with me, so obviously you can't be so bad."

"Yes, but Finn—"

"Out with it, lass," he grunted.

"We're supposed to be going South but you've got us going North."

Finn was silent, brow furrowed as he continued down the interstate. Several miles went by, and when he noted the bright blue sign denoting which direction they were headed, he released a stream of curses under his breath. Then he shrugged. "We're stuck this way until the next exit. And I've always wanted to see…" He leaned forward to read the approaching sign showing how many miles to the next exit. "Route 602."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Happy Friday! :)**

Chapter Nine.

 _The door's unlocked. Just come in._

Elevators were painstakingly slow and, mindful of that fact, Paul had taken the stairs. Now striding down the hall to Sophia's room, he wondered if she'd fallen asleep after unlocking the door. She usually did. When he reached her room he entered quietly, locked the door behind him, and was surprised to see her sitting up in bed, holding a steaming mug with both hands.

"I ordered room service." She was smiling, and nodded to the tray of coffee things and a dome-covered plate that was perched on the nightstand. "It's just coffee and toast."

Smiling, he set his phone, key and wallet on the dresser and crossed to the bed. He was relieved to see the sparkle in her eyes. She looked well-rested. The sheet and blanket were a jumble, and her bare legs were tucked beneath her. Her left cheek showed faint sheet marks. Her hair was its usual first-thing-in-the-morning wildness. He almost asked if she'd slept well, but it was so obvious he brushed the thought aside. After kicking off his shoes and removing his t-shirt he joined her. "How was your night?"

"Ridiculous until I got here." She leaned away to pour him a cup of coffee, handed it to him, then uncovered the plate and settled it in her lap. While spreading butter and copious amounts of jam onto toast for them to share, she told him about her ride from Seattle with Finn. "It kills me. The man is a complete and utter dork, but he's easily one of the most disciplined men I've ever met. I'm glad he's my friend, Paul."

"I am too," Paul murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head when she leaned against him. "I thought you rode with Ambrose and Roman though?"

She groaned, then explained how strange Ambrose had been acting. Shifting to look at him, she took a sip of coffee. "I don't get it. All of a sudden he acts like Roman and I are supposed to be up each other's asses. He even texted me before I got here telling me Roman's room number. I'd asked Roman to see if he could get a reason for his weirdness but I haven't heard from him so I guess he didn't."

Paul considered it while sipping his coffee. Accepting another piece of toast, he eyed the thick layer of jam, recalling his blunder when she'd been Skyping with Ambrose. "Have you thought that maybe he thinks you're seeing Roman?"

Sophia snorted on a laugh. "Me and Roman? Please. Dean would never think that."

"Then maybe he wants you to." Finishing the toast, he licked the leftover jam from his fingers and reached for his coffee.

"I doubt it. He knows I'm happy with y—" she cut off, leaning to retrieve a napkin. "Well, not with _you_. I don't think he'd be too keen on me being happy with you. If things were just a little different, he probably would. I guess. I don't know. It's fucking Ambrose, he's always been weird about me seeing men."

Probably because Ambrose wanted her for himself. It was a thought he'd considered several times before. He'd once vocalized it but her horrified reaction had made him wish he hadn't. The idea held merit, though, assumed big brother role the man held in her life or not. "Whatever it is, he'll tell you when he's ready," he said, knowing Sophia would not want to hear his thoughts on Ambrose's feelings. "Doesn't he always?"

"He does," she sighed around the last piece of toast. Pushing the plate back onto the tray, she gulped down the remainder of her coffee and looked to his cup. When he'd taken the last sip she shoved it onto the tray and, brushing crumbs from the sheet, crawled into his lap.

There was a smear of grape jam on her chin. He stared at it briefly while she settled over him. Just as her fingers danced up his arms he impulsively leaned forward, sweeping the jam away with a kiss. Smiling when she giggled, he pushed the cloud of auburn curls away from her face and met her eyes.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"It is now." He saw the frown that pulled at her lips before she tucked close to rest her head on his shoulder. Content, he absentmindedly trailed his fingers through her hair. He had no idea how much time passed just holding her, but he savored each moment.

Just when he was beginning to think she'd gone to sleep, she broke the silence. "Paul?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know what tomorrow is?"

"Yeah, it's—" His first thought was that it was Tuesday, but the date flashed in his mind and he knew the line her questioning was going to take. "Just in case I'm wrong, why don't you tell me?"

She grunted, pushing herself upright. Her lips were poised to speak but she looked into his eyes for a long moment, and they slowly curved into a smile. "You do know."

"Did you think I'd forget?" he asked, mocking hurt.

"I figured you would," she admitted. "But I wasn't going to be upset if you did. Honest. You've got so many things to keep track of. Tour dates and travel plans and storylines and—"

He silenced her with a kiss. Teasing her lips with his until she cupped his face and began to return the affection, he thought of the small blue box tucked in a velvet bag and hidden in his shaving kit. There had to be at least one hundred better places to put it, but it had been the most convenient location when he'd bought it, as well as being away from potential prying eyes. It was rare that he could buy gifts for her, aside from the occasional flowers. And when he did, he had to make it something that wouldn't raise eyebrows. More than once he'd longed to be able to spoil her freely. And, certain that no etiquette book would offer tips on what a man should buy his mistress for their anniversary, he'd chosen something he was sure she'd like.

"Paul," she whispered, breaking into his thoughts when he moved to kiss the side of her neck.

"Sophie," he returned. Feeling her start to squirm, he nibbled the spot just beneath her ear.

She leaned back. He took in her slightly flushed cheeks, parted lips, and saw the question in her eyes. He barely managed a nod before she reached to pull off the baggy t-shirt she wore. His t-shirt, he realized as it sailed to the floor. Distracted when she moved to kick the covers back, he stared at the tendril of hair that curled around one nipple. Then she leaned to rummage on the nightstand, jarring the cups on the tray. His hands glided over her smooth thighs before reaching around to cup her bare backside.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly as she continued to poke around on the nightstand.

"I know I threw my… Got it," she announced, sitting back on his thighs. She began gathering her curls at the back of her head, a hair band clutched between her lips.

He tightened his grip on her, his cock beginning to strain against the front of his workout shorts. Watching her persuade her unruly curls into a ponytail always kicked his desire for her into overdrive. Much like Pavlov's dog at the ring of a bell. Because she always put her hair up before going down on him. Her hands fell to his chest. Her lips met his in a sultry kiss, then she was moving lower. He lifted his hips when she tugged at the waistband of his shorts, kicking them off once she'd pushed them to his knees. Her mouth traced the lines of his abdomen, each stroke of her lips against his skin strengthening his lust.

"You're so amazing," she murmured. Lifting her head to smile at him, she wrapped her hands around his cock, stealing his breath. "Not just your body. Your body is fucking phenomenal… But you as a man are amazing."

"You're amazing, too," he promised, caressing her cheek. She leaned against his hand briefly, then resumed her tender kisses. Tucking his arms behind his head so he wouldn't be tempted to grab her, because he knew that made her wary, he drew in a breath when she began to stroke his cock in the slow, lazy way that drove him wild.

Sophia slid her legs over his until she lay between them. Her breasts, hot and plush, rested against his crotch and he moaned. Her breath was fire over the tip of his cock, then her lips and tongue were there. She continued the teasing stroke of her hands, eyes meeting his.

"Shit," he groaned. Her eyes were glittering like emeralds and he couldn't look away, even when she began to rapidly drag her tongue over the tip. His own tongue traced over his lips, his hands curling into fists. "Sophie…"

"Hmm?" She puckered her lips, noisily kissing the straining tip, then lifted her head slightly. Eyes gleaming with desire, she kept up the tortuous glide of her hands, her tongue occasionally darting out to tease.

"I want to be inside you."

"In a minute," she purred, dragging her tongue from tip to base and back again. His cock twitched hopefully against her lips. Without thinking he lifted his hips, yearning for more. She gave a soft little sigh that fluttered over him and parted her lips to take him in, hands dropping to his hips.

"Fuck," he panted. She moved slowly, lips gliding, tongue rolling. His head fell back, muscles tensing as she sucked gently on the way up. He drew in a breath, growing overheated while she languidly worked on his cock. Though his body strained to take over, he somehow managed to keep the urge under control, clenching his fists tighter when she began to moan.

Then, just when the fire in the pit of his stomach threatened to consume him, she raised her head. One hand returned, gripped him snugly, and began a steady, rapid stroking that snatched the breath from his lungs.

He jerked his head up, moaning her name as he watched her tongue swirl over the tip. Toes starting to curl, he gasped for air when she released him. His head dropped back against the pillows, and he unbent his arms, catching her gently by the back of the neck and dragging her up for a kiss.

"One day I won't stop," she whispered between kisses. Tongue tracing his lips, she yielded when his hand fell to her hip, rolling with him.

"I don't care that you stop," he promised, breaking the series of kisses to look into her eyes. Needing her to know he meant it, he pressed his lips to her forehead, smiling when her hands grasped his shoulders. He didn't care. Coming was vastly better when he was inside her. When her fingers were digging into his flesh, her voice cracking on his name, her lithe body tightening around him like a vise while she came too. Dropping kisses down the side of her face, he shifted over her, hand slipping between her thighs. Her pleased moan caused her throat to vibrate against his mouth and he dipped his head lower, tongue circling one peaked nipple. She was slick beneath his fingers, and they glided along her slit.

"Babe," she sighed, arching beneath him. Her fingers slid to clutch the back of his neck, breath faltering when he started suckling hard on her nipple. His thumb circled her clit, eliciting a gasp of anticipation, and as he teased her entrance with two fingers he felt her nails bite into his flesh.

He teased her slowly, thumb avoiding her clit while his mouth and teeth manipulated her nipple. Releasing it abruptly, he turned his attention to her other breast, immune to the way she wriggled and squirmed in an attempt to make him give her more. Working his fingers side to side, he let go of her nipple, looking up to her hopeful face with a smirk. He kissed his way down, enjoying the light pressure of her fingers as she parted her thighs further and lifted her hips. Breathing in her aroma, he moaned against her inner thigh, the tip of one finger probing until he felt her shudder.

She draped one leg over his shoulder, hips rolling. His lips brushed over her slit in soft kisses. Gently spreading her, he began to lick her up and down slowly, avoiding her clit. He flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly over the slick velvet, letting it dip into her entrance. He felt her toes curl against his back, heard her shuddering gasp.

Continuing to tease, he looked up to her face when her hands dropped away. A tremor of desire rippled down his spine when he saw her fingers pinching and rolling her nipples. She arched her back, crying out. Withdrawing his tongue, he replaced it with two fingers, cock twitching when she tightened around the digits. He grazed her clit with his thumb, smirking at the barrage of curses that tumbled from her mouth. Eyes on her face, he wiggled his thumb while fingering her slowly, his free hand grasping her hip when she began to tremble. Then, her keening cry filling the room, he replaced his thumb with his lips, sucking hard.

His hand and mouth followed when her hips began to writhe, and he finally pinned her down with his left arm, eyes focused on the white-knuckled grip she had on her breasts. Releasing her clit and pulling out his fingers, he dragged his tongue along her slit in a noisy slurp, moaning. Then, pushing his fingers inside her again and beginning to finger her rapidly, he traced random swirls and patterns over her clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Paul!" she cried, hips straining upwards.

"Mmm," he moaned encouragingly, alternating between flicking her clit with his tongue and grazing it with his teeth. He slammed his fingers into her, straining to go as deep as possible, when she began to twitch. Sucking on her clit as she let out a tiny scream, he pulled out his fingers, rubbing back and forth vigorously as her juices flowed out in a rush. When she slumped he stayed with her, giving her clit slow, gentle licks. She continued to shake, and he heard another little scream when his fingers eased inside her again.

"Fuck," she gasped as he resumed fingering her, gently this time. He released her clit and she shuddered when he began kissing his way up her torso. She was still trembling when his lips slid along the valley between her breasts. " _Fuck_ ," she repeated, this time with a sob, brought on by his tongue tracing her collarbone. Her body rolled beneath him, sending his fingers deeper, and she whimpered.

"Okay?" he asked softly, kissing her cheek.

"That was intense," she whispered, shaky hands flattening against his chest. She spread her legs to accommodate him, whining when his thumb brushed her clit.

"Too much?"

"More," she gasped, lifting her hips.

"Of this?" he teased, fingers starting to move faster.

"Yes," she hissed, nails dragging over his skin. But she quickly shook her head, catching his cheek and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. "No… I need you, Paul."

Wordlessly, he removed his fingers and guided her legs over his thighs. To his delight, she slid one hand down, grasped his cock, and gave a few lazy strokes before guiding him inside her. Once their bodies were joined she clutched his hip, her sharp moan matching his. He watched her body arch sensually, holding himself still to enjoy the sight of her.

Ponytail askew and falling down, skin flushed, perspiration a light sheen on her flesh. Lips swollen and damp, eyes luminous. Breasts rising and swaying with each uneven breath. Her nipples were stiff peaks aimed at the ceiling. The faint lines of her abdomen rippled with each slow roll of her hips. Legs splayed shamelessly, neatly-trimmed auburn curls glistening with the evidence of her desire and satisfaction. His hands looked larger than normal against her creamy thighs, more so when her slim fingers wrapped around his wrist. Gazing down at how close she was nestled to him, he drew in a breath and began rolling his hips in time with hers.

There was a carnal enjoyment in watching her stretch to take him in, just one more element to add to all the others. Her nails dug into his wrist briefly, and he heard her whispered plea, then she let go. He looked on as her fingers concealed the auburn curls, unintentionally thrusting harder when she began gently stroking her clit. His fingers tightened against her thighs.

"Fuck," he growled, hips moving faster when she pulled one knee towards her chest. He hazily wondered how she'd known that he'd been about to do it himself. The movement sent him deeper, and he leaned forward, able to feel her fingers working between them. Guiding her elevated leg to rest against his shoulder, he brought his hands up to grasp her breasts, thumbs stroking the stiff nipples.

"Oh god," she gasped, and he felt her fingers start to move faster. Her back arched off the bed. Taking the opportunity, he tucked one arm around her waist, gripping her ass tightly. "Harder," she whispered, the hand not between them grasping the sheet beneath them. "Please—"

He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her impassioned pleas. Pounding into her, he could feel the mattress shake. His hand fell from her breast, grabbing at the headboard for leverage, her lips and tongue working over his intensely. Using the hand on her ass to guide her hips further upwards, he focused on fulfilling her desire, trying to push his own flames of passion aside. The fingers between them worked feverishly. He felt them tremble, felt her tighten around him, felt her teeth bite down on his bottom lip. Grunting, he worked furiously to catch up with her, gasping when she released his lip and her head fell back. He barely heard her sharp cry. But he felt her body go rigid, except for her hips, which rocked frantically. He felt her clamp down around his cock, felt the heat and added wetness. He felt his dick throb, felt his stomach clench, felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush. He felt blinding, mind-blowing ecstasy.

He felt everything. Her breath against his neck. Her hair tickling his cheek. Her leg slide off his shoulder. Another twinge of delight when her legs twined with his. He felt her toes stroke the backs of his calves, the cushion of her breasts against his chest, and the pounding of her heart. Her hand wriggled out from between them, then he felt her arms drape around him. He heard her whisper, and he slowly raised his head, realizing he still gripped the headboard. Dropping his hand to the mattress and pushing himself up slightly, he wet his lips and gazed at her radiant face.

"Hmm?" The arm supporting him was shaky, but he brought his other hand to her cheek nonetheless. Air slipped between their bodies and he saw goosebumps rise on her skin. Her lips pulled into a frown, then her eyes slowly opened.

"What?" she asked in a whisper.

"You said something." He brushed away a bead of perspiration before it could roll into her eye, then leaned in for a kiss. "What was it?"

"Damned if I know," she sighed a moment later, shivering as he raised his head. One hand slid over his shoulder in a gentle caress. The other lightly massaged the back of his neck.

A lock of hair clung to her sweaty neck and he slowly pushed it away. Loathe to part from her, he stayed where he was, the slight ache in his lower back be damned. She gazed up at him, still radiant, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

One eyebrow arched, and she pushed her head back slightly. "Why are you grinning like that?"

"Because," he answered slowly, one finger tracing an invisible line from just below her ear to her collarbone, "I'm happy. And…" he trailed, watching his finger progress down her side until his palm curved over her hip. Holding her to him as he shifted to lay on his side, he chuckled when several locks of her hair fell over her face. Brushing them away before she could, he wound one curl around his index finger and murmured, "I'm happy because you make me happy."

"Yeah?" She tucked herself close, obviously despising the idea of parting their bodies as much as he did.

"Yeah."

The leg over his moved, and he glanced to see her tugging at the covers with her toes. He released the curl, reached to help her, and their sigh was mutual once the covers were tucked over their cooling bodies. He leaned over her to turn off the lamp, then quickly settled back and brought her into his arms again. Leg over his once more, she murmured, "You make me happy, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She stretched like a cat, then he felt her lips brush his chin. His throat. His shoulder. The center of his chest. She did a poor job of muffling a yawn.

"Get a little sleep, sweetie," he whispered, knowing from her stillness that she was more than likely halfway there.

"Mm-hmm."

* * *

Standing with Finn and Nattie, Sophia was bewildered by the excited party planning. Nattie, beaming, had told her back at the arena that she'd bought nearly all the supplies and was having them sent to her home. Yes, she'd chosen one of the two themes Sophia had given her. Now she was being subjected to more decision making.

"Do you want a piñata?" Nattie asked, one hand grasping her phone and the other holding a Starbucks cup.

Imagining the dozen or so people she'd jotted down as a guest list swinging a bat at a papier-mâché likeness of a beloved cartoon character, Sophia wrinkled her nose. She could already see some of her friends hitting everything but a piñata. "Better not," she decided, taking a sip from her own Starbucks cup.

"We'll have goodie bags instead," Nattie announced. At Sophia's questioning look, she frowned. "Did you ever go to a birthday party as a child?"

"Not another kid's. I went to my mom's boss's birthday once. There weren't goodie bags, though. Or a piñata. But he did have a stripper jump out of a cake." Seeing their startled looks, she shrugged. "What? I didn't stuff money in her G-string."

"I'd hope not," Finn muttered.

"But I did get one of her pasties when it fell off." Sophia hid a grin by taking another sip of her strawberries and crème frappuccino. The two stared at her in horror, so she shrugged again. "It was purple and glittery, two of my favorite things at that age."

"Do I want to know what that age was?" Nattie asked.

"Probably not." Sophia cleared her throat when Nattie rolled her eyes. "Anymore decisions to make before they call our flight?"

"Would you rather have a catered dinner or finger foods?"

Knowing Nattie's spending habits, Sophia nodded. "Finger foods. And, hey, can we make them ourselves that morning or whatever? No need to hire a caterer just to smear some cheese on a cracker."

"That sounds like fun," Finn enthused. Sophia had an inkling he'd agreed to foot half the bill. She wasn't sure what his financial situation was, but doubted he had the backup trust fund that Nattie did.

From the corner of her eye she saw a familiar figure. Turning as Nattie and Finn began discussing finger foods they could make, she saw it was Roman and waved him over. She was grateful for the diversion, and caught his arm once he was close enough. "Save me, they're party-planning," she muttered.

"Whose party?" Roman asked.

"Sophia's," Nattie and Finn answered in unison, neither looking up from Nattie's phone.

"Long story," Sophia said before Roman could question further. "And yes, you're invited. I don't know when it is yet, but please say you'll come."

"Isn't your birthday in—"

"Yes, but Finn and Nattie _insist_ I need a party now. Or, rather, soon." Sophia gave him a pleading look.

"I'll be there," he chuckled. "Have you seen Ambrose?"

"Not since our bit at the show." He'd come out to the ring to congratulate her on her win, and inadvertently safe her from a Bella beat down. Once backstage, he'd dropped a kiss on her cheek, told her to have a safe flight with Roman, and had disappeared. She'd watched his match, and had texted him after, but he hadn't responded yet. She couldn't help but bitterly note that Paul had responded to her texts, even though they hadn't needed responses. Nor could she help wondering why a man with millions of things to do and think about could find time to text, when a self-admitted lazy asshole couldn't. "Are you on the same flight we are?"

"Nah, I'm heading to Headquarters. They're doing that special on the lead-up to the Rumble and I have to be there to film some bits."

Sophia opened her mouth to tell him she would be filming something at the Performance Center the next day for the same special, but fell silent when a familiar statuesque figure approached them. She smiled in greeting, unconsciously gripping Roman's arm tighter.

"Hello," Stephanie greeted their small group. Still wearing the form-fitting blue dress she'd worn during the taping, feet still in the high heels that added to her already towering height, she was easily one of the most glamorous looking travelers that Sophia had ever seen.

She felt completely dumpy in the presence of the older woman. Acutely aware that her comfortable stretch pants were faded from many washings, that her Converse were dingy and scuffed, Sophia let go of Roman and, suddenly chilled, zipped up the TapOut hoodie she'd been given at the taping. It was a size too big but at least she hadn't managed to stain it yet. She pushed away the voice in the back of her mind, the one that snidely asked how Paul could possibly be interested in her when his wife looked like _that_. The one that pointed out she wasn't wearing any makeup and her hair was a mess.

But, she did note that Stephanie looked ready for a fabulous night on the town, while she herself looked ready for a carton of ice cream and a marathon of _Friends_.

Then she felt the woman's penetrating gaze on her. Shifting her focus from the vividly patterned carpet, she raised a brow in question.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Sophia, but…" Stephanie's gaze swept up and down Sophia's figure, and her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Try to remember that when you're in public you represent the Divas and the WWE as a whole."

Sophia glanced to Nattie. Though dressed down, her hair and makeup were done. Simply, yes, but she looked put together. Neat. And she was obviously paying no attention to what Stephanie was saying, head bent close to Finn's as they both looked at her phone. Next to her, Roman was on his phone as well. Squaring her shoulders, she smiled at the older woman. "I'll keep that in mind, but I've found that the fans pay more attention to how I treat them in public than they do my looks."

"So you think," Stephanie replied with a little shrug. "You'll be at the Performance Center tomorrow, right?"

"Yes." She almost asked if Stephanie wanted her to give Paul a message. Instead, she looked to the flight information display, wishing the flight to Orlando was ready to board.

"Paul is taking our girls there for the afternoon. If you could pass the word on to everyone else so they'll know to watch their mouths."

Rankled at the way Stephanie had stressed "our girls" in her statement, Sophia could only nod. She'd known Paul would be there. Over the past year he'd taken to going to the Center every Wednesday. It was another little tidbit she knew about him. Just like she knew he drank only black coffee in the mornings, and iced coffee in the evenings. And he never slept in a shirt, but when it was cold out he liked flannel pajama pants.

"Well, see you all next Monday," Stephanie announced with a breezy smile.

Sophia watched the penetrating gaze shift to Roman. Surprised to see Stephanie's eyes darken, she concealed her shock when the gaze turned hungry. Or was she just imagining things? She had to be. But Roman was giving her the same look, and when Stephanie asked if he was ready to go he nodded. And Sophia could only stare as the two walked off, Roman briefly putting his hand on the small of Stephanie's back. Feeling as though her mouth was about to drop open in shock, she turned her back to the sight, patting her pockets to search for her phone.

As soon as she found it, it began to vibrate with a new message. Paul. Keeping her face impassive lest Finn or Nattie decide to stop party planning for two seconds, she read the words and felt flutters of warmth start up in her stomach.

 _Taking a later flight, getting bookings finalized for the house shows. I have the girls with me, but I hope we can see each other tomorrow._

Then, before she could reply, two more came through.

 _This morning was amazing._

 _I miss you._

Irritation with Stephanie's comments about her appearance drifted away. Suddenly she wished she were brazen enough to be waiting at his condo to see him when he arrived. She knew that would never happen, though, and merely asked if she could see him in the morning before the girls awoke, ending with four words she personally hated: _We need to talk._

"You ready, lass?" Finn asked, breaking into her thoughts. He'd slipped her backpack off her shoulder already. "They just called our flight."

"I'm right behind you. Just want to send a few more texts," she said, instinctively resting her phone against her thigh so he wouldn't see Paul's name.

"See you onboard, then." He handed her backpack over. "You'd better hurry before Nattie decides to order pony rides for your party."

"She wouldn't—" Sophia cut off when Finn raised his eyebrows. "Okay, she would… I'll be right there."

Chuckling, Finn shouldered his own backpack and headed off with Nattie.

Sophia breathed a sigh and looked to her phone.

 _About us?_

 _No_ , she replied swiftly. She hesitated, then finally tapped out the full answer before she could think of a reason not to. _Stephanie._

 _Okay. Text me when you're on the way._

 _I will._ She breathed another sigh. Then, slowly moving to join the line of those waiting to board, she looked back at the message he'd sent saying he missed her.

 _I miss you too._

She kept her gaze on her phone as the line shuffled forward, opening her photos when it became apparent Paul wouldn't be replying immediately. Scrolling through the pictures she'd taken that morning before he'd left her room, she felt herself relax a little more with each photo she viewed. Her favorite was the selfie she'd snapped when they'd still been in the bed. True, the top half of Paul's head had been cut off, and she'd been mid-laugh because he'd just cracked a corny joke, but there was something about it that made her smile. Perhaps the fact she could see he was grinning. Or the way his arm was tucked securely over her chest. Looking at it, she could feel the weight of his arm, the solidity of his chest beneath her head, his breath ruffling her hair.

Once boarded and her backpack stowed beneath the seat in front of her, she looked at the picture again, fingers moving over the screen as she carefully edited it. Next to her, Nattie and Finn were working on a physical list of food for the party, and neither seemed to want or need her input. So she continued fiddling with the photo, reluctantly cropping out the bottom half of Paul's face. Adding a few filters just in case some eagle-eyed fans with too much time on their hands would recognize the obviously male chest behind her head as Paul's, she then cropped it just a bit more to be safe, until only the shadow of his arm against her upper chest showed. Double-checking to make sure she hadn't missed anything, she opened Instagram and posted the photo.

She hesitated briefly, squinting to triple-check, then added a caption – _Looking forward to getting in some cuddle time…_

Once it had posted, she powered down her phone and shoved it into her hoodie pocket and let her thoughts turn back to Roman and Stephanie.

They weren't, were they?

Roman wouldn't. Would he?

 _"Sometimes you have to take what you can get."_

Roman's words came to her and she suppressed a groan. She longed to corner him and ask him what the hell he was doing. But she couldn't. Wasn't she doing the same thing she suspected he was doing?


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Happy Friday! Thank you all for the reviews, follows, favorites. They really make my day. And I know some of you are probably wondering where in the ever-loving hell a certain Lunatic is, but never fear! He'll be back soon. Enjoy! :)**

Chapter Ten

Paul, having awakened two minutes before his phone buzzed with Sophia's message, slid out of bed. He moved quietly around the bedroom, making sure his daughters were still asleep while he pulled on a shirt. They were, and showed no signs of waking as he unplugged his phone and crept from the room. He eased the door shut behind him, then moved to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Waiting for it, waiting for her, he wondered what Stephanie had done to garner an early morning visit. He'd seen the photo Sophia had posted and had briefly worried for her, despite her posting similar photos in the past. Then, thinking of his wife, he'd started fretting that she had said or done something to awaken resent in Sophia. Or had she overheard something?

Sighing, he took down two cups and a spoon. Just as the coffeepot gurgled for the last time, he heard his phone buzz against the table. He didn't bother looking at it, already knowing what the message was, and instead spooned a copious amount of sugar and creamer into Sophia's cup. After stirring coffee into it he went into the living room and unlocked the door.

She was waiting, a white paper sack in one hand and her keys in the other. She smiled, nodding when he held a finger to his lips as she slipped inside. "Hi," she whispered.

"Morning," he whispered back. Unable to resist, he leaned in for a quick kiss.

Holding up the bag, she mouthed 'napkins' before gesturing to the small balcony off the living room. Paul nodded, and heard the door slide open as he went back to the kitchen.

It was balmy out, the sun just beginning to kiss the sky. A light breeze ruffled the branches of the potted palm that had been in the corner of the balcony since he'd signed the lease. He closed the door, leaving a small gap so he would be able to hear if the kids got up, then joined Sophia at the tiny table.

"Mm, thank you," she sighed once her cup of coffee was in her hands. The paper bag had been emptied and was now held down by two still-steaming pastries. "I stopped at that little bakery on Figueroa."

She remembered, he thought with a silly grin, which he hid behind the rim of his cup. Thinking of the tiny bakery she'd introduced to him, and all the times he'd gone there to pick up something for them to share on the mornings he woke up in her bed, he felt the worry over what Stephanie had said or done fade. But he heard her sigh before the breeze could take it away and frowned, setting his cup on the table and reaching for a pastry. "You said we needed to talk."

Her head bobbed in a nod, tendrils that had fallen from her ponytail dancing against her neck and cheeks. "You remember telling me about…" She hesitated, lips pulling into a frown as she tore off a piece of pastry. "Do you remember telling me about her cheating?"

"Yes." It had been one of those late night rambling talks. She'd told him about previous failed relationships, he'd told her of his. Although, looking back, it occurred to him that he'd told her more than she'd told him.

"Does she still?" she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment. Saw her shoulders rise and fall. And, even though he knew he didn't have to say the answer aloud, he did. "Yeah. She's discreet about it, but I know it happens. Why?"

"I saw her… Well I didn't see her actually doing anything. But I saw her with someone. And maybe I'm overthinking. Because I know that me and you both do our best to not do anything around other people that could be seen by others as signs of intimacy. At least, we try to."

Thinking of the dark end of a hallway, hard, unyielding wall beneath his hand and her legs around him, while anyone could have rounded the corner and seen them, he decided they weren't trying so hard. "Sophie."

"The airport last night. She was there and started talking to me and Nattie and Finn. She said—Well it doesn't matter what she said," Sophia muttered, cheeks darkening as she looked down at her pastry. "Anyway, she went off to get on her plane and I saw them."

"Who?" he asked, though he would have much rather asked what she'd said. Whatever it had been, the words had obviously hurt.

"Her. And Roman," she added softly.

"Roman?" he repeated.

"Maybe it was nothing. He said he was heading up to Headquarters to film some stuff, then she came over and talked for a few minutes. Then they walked off together. And they didn't say anything, you know? She only said one thing to him, and that was asking if he was ready. But it was just…" She shrugged, groaning. "There was something there. I don't know how to describe it. They both looked at each other like… Like…"

"Like?" he prodded.

"Like you look at me when we're alone," she answered. "It's this kind of glazed-over look of hunger and desire. Like you've just crawled out of the desert and I'm a cool glass of ice water. Or you've just been stranded without food and I'm a juicy steak."

He pondered that for a moment while he chewed. In a way, her metaphors were correct. Hadn't she quenched more than a few figurative thirsts and hungers in his life since they'd met? Brushing crumbs from the tabletop, he glanced at her. "You look at me that way too," he pointed out gently. The question was, though, did she thirst and hunger as much for him as he did for her?

"I know." She was holding her cup in both hands, eyeing him over the rim. After taking a sip, she lowered the cup, her tongue darting over her lips. "I just wanted to tell you. Roman's a friend. I don't want to see him hurt. But at the same time, he's a grown man and should know better. And I'm not trying to insinuate that she will hurt him. I just…"

"I understand," he assured.

"You're not going to beat him up, are you?"

"For fucking my wife?" Paul shook his head. Roman wasn't the first. He probably wouldn't be the last. "I'll try talking to her, tell her to be subtler. If you noticed, someone else may have."

"Speaking of being subtle, I better go." As she began gathering the trash from their pastries, one of the first rays of the sun slanted and lit up her face.

"Stay just a few more minutes," he requested. Shoving the napkins into the bag, he crumpled it up and dropped it in the container holding the potted palm.

"Just a few," she conceded.

"Have you been sleeping okay?" he asked once they were both standing. She'd turned to watch the sun ascend, and he stepped up behind her, arms tucking around her middle.

"Yeah." Her hands were warm over his. "Are you staying down here the rest of the week?"

"I'm heading north Friday afternoon." He felt her sigh. "Why?"

"I still haven't been able to talk to you. About… The storm stuff."

Oh. "Oh, sweetie," he sighed. Kissing the top of her head, he pulled her closer to him. "It can wait a few more days."

"I know. And I've waited this long, I can wait just a little longer." She turned in his arms, those tendrils that had danced against her cheek now fluttering against his chest. "I'll be in Buffalo Friday."

"I know you will. I'll be there, too."

"All night?" she asked hopefully.

"All night. So we can talk. And get in that cuddle time you want."

She laughed softly. "Saw that, huh?"

"Of course." His lips found her forehead. "You looked gorgeous in that picture."

"I wish—" she cut off, pressing her face to his chest.

He didn't ask; he didn't have to. He knew what she wished. He wished it, too. "I know," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I know, sweetie."

"I better go before someone wakes up."

Reluctantly, he agreed. When she lifted her head he leaned down for a kiss, one hand rising to cup her face. "See you at the Center later?"

"I need to work on my suplexes," she murmured, leaning up to steal another kiss. "So yes, you will."

"What's wrong with your suplexes?" he asked, distracted by the statement.

"Nikki and I have started working on our match for the Rumble," she explained, breaking away with a groan. "She doesn't want it to be two-to-five minutes of roll-up attempts, and neither do I. And suplexes have always been a weak spot of mine. I would really love to do some Germans on her. But I don't know. I'll hit up Jason or Regal for advice."

"Germans aren't that difficult. You have to make sure your opponent is working with you. And you both have to jump back at the same time." He saw a crumb of pastry clinging to her chin and brushed it away. "Don't worry, Sophie. We'll get you ready for an amazing match."

"I just don't want it to be a piss break. Or for it to be some giant letdown between matches."

"It won't be. And do you know why?" he asked as she leaned to get their empty coffee cups.

"Why, oh Master of All Knowledge?" she teased.

"Because you'll be in it."

"Oh, Paul." Her cheeks flushed prettily, and she ducked her head. "Thank you. Now, really, I need to go."

But she didn't. Not immediately. She carried the cups into the kitchen and placed them in the sink, then smiled over the new drawings he'd put on the fridge.

"This is Aurora's isn't it?" she murmured, indicating the sketch of a bare tree against a wintry landscape.

"She did it on the flight," he answered with a nod.

"She's really good." Sophia pulled her keys from her pocket as they slowly headed to the door. Once there, she turned to face him. "Question. When your daughters are down here, do you cuddle them in the bed or do you sleep on the couch?"

He blinked in surprise at the question, then motioned to the couch. "I got a foldout for them to use, but they always end up in my bed. I always tell myself I'll move to the couch once they fall asleep, but…"

"But you never do," she finished for him, flashing an adorable smile. "Is the mattress in here that bad?"

"I have no idea. Never gotten around to using it," he admitted. Except for the one time he'd brought it out to make sure it worked, he'd never unfolded it. There was no use bothering when the girls were with him. They always begged to snuggle with him in the big bed. And he was always too comfortable to move when they inevitably fell asleep.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I was just thinking…" she trailed. Her lips slowly moved to form a saucy grin, and she glanced from the couch to him. "We'll just have to break it in one day."

Chuckling, he followed her as she leaned against the door. "I'd like that."

"So would I." Keys jangling, she pushed a lock of hair from her cheek. Her tongue traced her lips as he stepped closer. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for the pastry." He rested one hand on the solid wood behind her, watching her head tip back in anticipation.

"I'll see you later," she whispered as he leaned in.

Paul heard her keys clatter against the floor as their lips met. Then her hands rested lightly at his waist, her lips parting for him. Trailing a finger over her cheek, down the side of her neck, he swallowed her soft moan. He longed to drag her to the couch so they could get to work breaking it in, going so far as to grasp her hip so he could pull her away from the door, but refrained, knowing it would lead to disaster if he gave in now.

His name was a fevered whisper as she broke the kiss. Clutching his waist, her breath uneven and rapid, she looked up at him with desire and irritation warring in her eyes. "You—"

"Daddy?"

At the sound of his youngest calling out, they quickly parted. Mind racing, Paul snatched up one of the file folders that was on the console table next to the door and pushed it into her hands. He caught her nod of understanding then turned to face the bedroom door as it eased open.

"Daddy," Vaughan called again, rubbing her eyes with her hands as she shuffled out.

"What's the matter, Pumpkin?" he asked, clearing his throat when he noticed the strain in his voice. Squatting, he extended an arm and brought her close.

"Woke up," she answered, burying her face in his neck as he stood with her. Her legs immediately tucked around him, and she hung onto his shoulders. "Hungry."

"Did you go potty?" he asked automatically, keeping an arm securely around her. He felt her nod and slowly turned to face Sophia. "You remember Sophia, don't you?"

Vaughan's head popped up and turned to view the visitor. Paul saw her eyes light, and grunted when she shifted around to face Sophia. "Miss Sophia!"

"Good morning," Sophia greeted. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from embarrassment at nearly being caught. She'd gotten her keys, and they jangled as she adjusted her grip on the folder he'd shoved at her. "I hope I didn't wake you up. I just dropped in for a minute."

"No. It was Murphy." Vaughan wriggled and Paul eased his grip so she could slide down to the floor. "Her foot kept hitting my butt."

"Murphy's a kicker," Paul explained.

"I am, too," Sophia admitted. "Are you glad to be in Florida for a few days?"

"Uh-huh! We're going to jump in the foam ring today," Vaughan announced, crossing to Sophia and looking up at her. "Are you gonna beat Nikki at the Royal Rumble?"

"I'm gonna try."

Paul looked on indulgently as Sophia crouched to Vaughan's height. Feeling a tug in his chest, he folded his arms while Vaughan began to prattle about how she hoped Sophia would defeat the other Diva. He'd seen her interact with his girls before. Never so early in the morning, though, and never in his living room after one of his girls had just gotten out of bed. Usually backstage at a show or at the Performance Center, when there was always so much going on that she could only spare a few moments. He couldn't help but wonder if she intentionally kept herself from spending time with the girls. And he wondered if maybe he should keep them separate.

But Vaughan was so animated as she talked to Sophia. She was talking about hair now, and enthused over Sophia's wild auburn curls. Sophia was grinning. When asked, she reached up and removed the hair band, her laughter ringing in Paul's ears as Vaughan voiced her awe.

"Daddy, Rora pushed me out of bed!" Murphy erupted, stomping out of the bedroom, hair a testament to the fact she was never still while sleeping. She froze at the sight of Sophia, and greeted the woman shyly.

"I didn't push her out!" Aurora defended, nearly crashing into her younger sister as she hurried out of the bedroom. She, too, froze upon seeing Sophia, then nudged Murphy out of her way so she could join Vaughan in her enthusiasm over having their favorite Diva to themselves.

Murphy shrugged and joined them, her voice mingling with her sisters'. Paul looked on, bewildered by the girl talk, but enjoying the moment nonetheless. Neither of the four females seemed to remember his presence, so he said nothing. Not that he would have gotten a chance. There seemed to be six conversations going on at once. And when four heads turned to look at him questioningly he knew he'd missed something important.

"What?" he asked.

"Can she?" Aurora asked.

"Can who?" He was lost. And Sophia giggling behind her hand didn't help matters.

"Can Sophia," Vaughan explained.

"Um…" Paul ran a hand over his head, idly scratching the back of his neck. "Can Sophia what?"

"Can Sophia braid our hair?" Murphy enunciated each word carefully and slowly. As though he were mentally disabled.

"Uh… Sure? If she wants to." Was it that major a decision? Apparently so, for they all jumped to attention and began filing into the bedroom, with Vaughan at the lead.

Sophia turned in the doorway, sending a smile so warm his stomach flipped. But the smile slipped, and her teeth began to worry her bottom lip. "If you want me to leave—"

"No, no, stay," he insisted. "They obviously want you to do it. I can only manage a ponytail. And as long as you don't mind…"

"I don't. They're sweet girls." She laughed when she was called by Vaughan. "I'm being summoned."

He almost followed, but stayed where he was. The excited chatter started up again, interspersed with giggles and squeals of laughter. Knowing he was toeing a dangerous line, he went to peer into the bedroom. Sophia was sitting in the middle of the bed, Vaughan cross-legged right in front of her, hairbrush in hand. Aurora was brushing her own hair, and Murphy was standing behind Sophia, attempting to style the unruly locks.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, leaning in the doorway.

"Pancakes and bacon."

"Eggs and sausage."

"Waffles!" Vaughan glanced up from the array of hair bands in front of her. "You didn't ask Miss Sophia, Daddy."

"Sophia? What would you like?"

"Oh, I couldn't," she protested, gathering Vaughan's hair together and running the brush through it gently.

" _Please_?"

Her lips twitched at the word, chorused by the girls, and she shook her head. "It's up to your Daddy."

"Please, Daddy?" Vaughan was quick to beg.

"Like I'd say no now," he scoffed. "Get your hair done, girls. I'll rustle up some breakfast."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: A day late, and I'm so sorry! Real life interrupted my plans yesterday. And, as next week is Spring Break around here, I'll be taking the week off from updating, but will be back on April 4 with the final part of Bittersweet, then again on the 8th for the next chapter of this story. Thank you everyone for all the continued reviews, likes, etc. Happy Easter to those who celebrate, and I hope you all enjoy WrestleMania!**

Chapter Eleven

Sophia felt the breath escape her lungs as feet connected to her upper chest. Falling backwards, she just managed to prepare herself for the harsh landing. A groan rumbled in her throat and she stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds before rolling away to avoid the knee aimed at her gut.

"You're slow today," Sasha Banks stated once they were both on their feet again. "What's wrong?"

"I ate too much breakfast," Sophia muttered, rubbing her still-full stomach. She blamed Paul. If he hadn't made so many pancakes, and if he hadn't looked so pleased when she scarfed down the first stack… Then there was the bacon. And the sausage. And the juice and milk. And the pleasant conversation.

"Well get your ass moving and work it off," the other woman suggested, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. "Are you doing the European tour?"

"I don't know yet. I think they're waiting to decide what happens at the Rumble." Sophia turned slightly to release a belch. "Ugh. Excuse me. Anyway, they haven't said. I guess I'll find out eventually."

"I hope you get to go." Sasha motioned between them. "We haven't had a match in too long. I'll beg Dusty and Regal."

"You? Beg Dusty?"

Sasha tilted her chin down, propped one hand on her hip and looked her up and down. "Are you saying I don't know how to beg?"

"I'm saying I've never had to see you beg for anything."

"So now you're saying I'm spoiled?"

"Well…" Sophia offered the sweetest of smiles. "If the shoe fits…"

"You bitch!" Sasha laughed. "I miss having your ass around, you know that?"

"Just my ass?" Sophia sighed, indicating the rest of her body. "My awesome legs and killer arms don't do it for you?"

Within seconds, she was on her back in the center of the ring, Sasha's legs secured around her in a scissors headlock. Both women laughed, rolling away from each other. Sophia got to her feet and, glancing out, grinned when she saw Dusty approaching.

"Honey child," he called, mounting the steps. He bent to duck between the middle and top ropes, his signature cowboy boots standing out against the light blue mat. Greeting Sasha with a quick pat on her shoulder, he turned to Sophia and scowled. "You didn't tell me you were coming here today."

"Are we supposed to announce ourselves now?" she asked in confusion.

"No, but it's too damned late to cancel my lunch plans and take you out now," he groused.

Sasha laughed. "We've got a bone to pick with you, Dusty."

Remembering, Sophia nodded. "Yes, we do."

"Ah, hell," Dusty muttered. "What'd I do now?"

"You haven't put Sophia on the European tour."

"Well damned if I didn't. Do you want to know why I didn't put her on the tour?" he asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "I ain't put her on the tour yet 'cause I'm waiting to see if Vince puts the belt on her. Can't have the Women's champ skipping around in Europe if she's needed on Raw and Smackdown."

Sophia smiled. Dusty refused to call any female wrestlers Divas. He did it when doing an official interview, but she'd heard him say many times that divas belonged in an opera, not a wrestling ring. "Surely you have a clue what they're going to do?"

His lips twitched. "I might. I might not. But I ain't gonna tell you."

"Can you give us a hint?" Sasha leaned in hopefully.

"Nope." Dusty grinned when both women groaned. "I'll see what I can do, alright? Maybe we can get her out there for a couple weekend shows."

"Thank you," Sasha crooned, leaning close to peck a kiss to his cheek. "I'll catch you later, girl."

Sophia watched her exit the ring then turned to Dusty. "So, how's it going, Pops?" The term of endearment rolled out of her mouth without hesitation, and she saw his eyes light up.

"It's going." His hand rested on her shoulder then rubbed her back as they both turned to look across the room. "They treating you alright?"

"I think they are. I've finally got a storyline. An actual feud. And I'm in the ring every week instead of sitting backstage wasting oxygen." She leaned against him briefly. "Any new students in Dusty's Driving School?"

"Lord have mercy," he blurted. "Didn't you and that Finn do enough damage to me?"

"I knew how to drive," she defended, grinning when he tugged on her ponytail.

"Honey child, your license was expired and you didn't know the emergency brake from the clutch."

Smiling at the sudden memories of Dusty ordering her to get behind the wheel of his truck, Sophia looked to him. Being self-taught when it came to driving was a sin in Dusty's book. And he'd taken her out every day for a month after she'd begun her training, patiently teaching her everything from the basics to maneuvers that she doubted she would ever need to use. True, he'd howled whenever she sped down a back road out in a rural area. And he had launched into curse-filled diatribes about how she was determined to kill him when she merged into rush-hour interstate traffic. But they'd bonded. As time passed, the driving lessons had segued into invitations to his house for dinner, where his wife piled a plate high with old-fashioned Southern cooking.

How she'd loved the hours spent at that table, eating until she felt she would burst and laughing until she cried over Dusty's stories of his life. And learning. She'd realized that he taught by telling stories. Seemingly ridiculous rants were littered with nuggets of wisdom. It was up to the listener to decide whether or not they wanted to pick them out.

"How's Michelle?" she asked.

"Oh, she's fine. She said the other day that she misses you coming out on Sundays." He patted her back before she could utter a word. "She knows you're busy. She understands. We'll just have to start having you over on a weeknight. Next Wednesday?"

"I don't have plans."

"Good."

"And how are you, Pops?" she asked softly. He looked tired. Then again, she couldn't remember a time since meeting him that he hadn't looked tired.

"Well," he drawled. "Joints are flaring up. Doc wants to give me a shot for the arthritis. And I need to lose a few pounds. The ticker's still good, though."

Sophia smiled. "That's because it's made of gold."

"Sweet-talker. Now, get your buns over there and see what the boss man wants."

She leaned to press a kiss to his cheek, then slid out of the ring. Paul had called everyone over to the practice ring in the center of the room. Eyebrows lifting in surprise upon seeing him in his workout gear, she moved to stand between Sasha and Bayley. She masked her delighted astonishment when he began discussing the proper maneuvering of German suplexes, and looked on while he called Sami and Tyler Breeze in to demonstrate.

"It takes strength, yes," he explained. "But it takes cooperation from both opponents. If the one being thrown doesn't go along at the right time, the whole move is screwed. You have to trust that you'll be carried over. Do not turn into a sandbag out of fear. Again."

Sophia studied Sami and Tyler as they performed the move again, admiring the fluidity as their bodies moved in harmony. She knew that Tyler was throwing himself up and over Sami's head but was able to lose that fact as Sami bent backwards to send Tyler away. Tyler landed on his shoulders, feet straight up in the air before the rest of his body crashed against the mat, and within seconds he was on his feet.

"If you and your opponent work together, size doesn't matter," Paul continued, gesturing to the women. "Any of you could do the move to any of these guys."

The statement was met with immature guffaws and snorts from most in attendance. Rolling her eyes, Sophia pictured herself attempting to German suplex someone immensely larger than her. Brock Lesnar came to mind and she almost laughed out loud, for the mental image was reminiscent of a kitten attacking a gorilla.

"Oh come on," Paul groaned, throwing up his hands. "It might not look believable, but it can be done."

"One of you girls go on up there and do it," Dusty insisted.

Sophia glanced back to see him standing a bit away from the ring. She was opening her mouth to protest when his wise gaze landed on her.

"How about you, Sophia?"

"What—"

"Get your ass in the ring."

Scoffing at the demanding tone, she nonetheless boosted herself onto the apron and stepped between the ropes. Sami was still there and she gave him a nod before looking to Paul.

"How long has it been since you had the move done on you?"

"A while," she admitted, certain that none of her matches on Raw or Smackdown had included the maneuver. "Probably when I was still down here."

"Zayn."

Sami grinned and stepped forward, moving to stand behind Sophia when Paul told him to suplex her.

"It looks like a prom picture," Sasha called from the floor once Sami had tucked his arms around Sophia. She was holding up her phone and grinning. "Smile!"

Sophia rolled her eyes, aware of the others laughing. Looking up to Paul as he stepped forward to check Sami's grip, she briefly met his gaze before he glanced to the positioning of her feet. He went over the procedure once more for her benefit, and when she nodded he stepped back.

"Ready?" Sami asked.

She nodded, and bent her knees in preparation. Able to ignore everyone looking on, she drew in a breath and pushed up as Sami lifted. The exhilaration of being in the air took her breath away. Her eyes closed as she went up and over, arms stretching out once Sami released her. Mindful of her position in the ring, she tucked her chin just before her shoulders landed against the mat. She brought the rest of her body down, grunting at the force, and waited for the space of a few heartbeats before pushing up onto her elbows.

Sami was there, and held out a hand to help her to her feet. She murmured her thanks, rolling her shoulders, looking to Paul for his assessment. Feeling a bit of a glow when he commended her, she listened closely as he told Sami to close his grip when the opponent was so much thinner. Before she realized it, Paul was behind her, arms locking around her middle.

"See?" he was saying, and Sophia held her arms out of the way so Sami could see the positioning of Paul's arms. "The hand needs to be locked in at the elbow. She's narrower than I am, so I have to tuck my elbows in like this. It gives you more control over the throw, and reduces the risk of you blowing out a shoulder. And because she's shorter, I have to get lower. Otherwise my arms would be around her chest instead of at the base of her ribcage."

"Got it," Sami assured.

Expecting Paul to let go and tell Sami to do the move again, Sophia was surprised when he instead gave her middle a squeeze and guided her to one corner of the ring. She rested her hands briefly on his arms, maintaining outward calm when she noticed Sasha from the corner of her eye, phone still in hand.

"Now," Paul whispered. And, guided by him, she flew.

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Stop trying to get away."

"But it hurts!"

"In a minute it won't."

Sophia slumped forward, clenching her teeth as the fire returned to her body. "Why does it hurt so much?" she whined.

"Because it's supposed to." Cool breath wafted over her shoulders. "How's that?"

"Better," she admitted with a groan.

"Just hold still until it stops burning."

"Ugh." Sophia grunted as Finn climbed off her back. Gingerly shifting until she was upright, she winced. "How bad is it?"

"Just a little mat burn. What did the trainer say?"

"That it's very minor. Keep it clean. Use that shit," she said, motioning to the spray bottle he was setting on the coffee table. "It'll be gone by the weekend. Oh, and to wear a sleeved shirt when I'm going to be thrown around and sliding in the ring."

"Ah, you've had worse, lass," Finn commented.

Sophia nodded in agreement, adjusting one of her sports bra's straps before tugging her t-shirt down. "Thanks for being my nurse."

"I'll be sure and keep a uniform in my car for the next time." He flopped down next to her.

A laugh erupted at the thought of Finn wearing a quintessential nurse's uniform. "Goof," she muttered. "What brings you by, anyway?"

"I've got grand news for you."

She hesitated, then her eyes widened. "If Nattie ordered a pony—"

"No," he promised quickly, chuckling. "She's promised to behave. And this isn't about your party. It's about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she repeated, leaning to retrieve her phone when it vibrated. Seeing that she had several messages from Sasha, she rested the device on the arm of the sofa and looked to Finn again. "What's happening tomorrow?"

"You don't have plans, do you?"

She thought of Paul, and his apologetic explanation that he wouldn't be at the Center the next day. She hadn't asked why, but he'd told her he was going to spend the day with his girls. Not about to begrudge the man time with his daughters, she'd decided to spend the day at home. Her apartment was in need of a good cleaning. She'd already done her laundry, but she needed to pack for the next round of shows. She was flying out Friday afternoon. "Not really," she answered after a moment. "I was just going to stay in. Why?"

"Well, if you're not busy…" His voice trailed as he leaned to retrieve the paper sack he'd brought in with him. He set it between them on the couch.

"What's that?" she asked cautiously.

"Just open it."

Setting her phone aside, she tucked one leg beneath her as she shifted around, pulling the bag closer. The top was rolled down. It crinkled as she unrolled it, and she peered inside. Squinting as she tried to make out what was inside, she finally reached in and tugged out an envelope. Finn motioned for her to open it and, still curious about the contents of the bag, she did so. It was a glaring pink card, and her eyebrows shot up at the sight of several Disney Princesses, and glittery words wishing her a magical day. Opening it, she saw something fall, but read the message inside, one hand reaching to grasp the slips of paper that had landed in her lap. Beneath the stock poem, Finn had scrawled another message.

 _Happy early birthday! – Finn_

"Finn," she sighed, lips pulling into a silly grin. "Thank—"

"Look at the other thing," he insisted. When she glanced to him, she saw his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Is it a coupon for—" she cut off, staring at the two folded pieces of paper in her hand. "Finn! You didn't!"

He was grinning, and the bag rustled loudly as he reached inside and brought out a folded t-shirt. Shaking it, he held it up so she could see.

It was white, with the iconic Mickey Mouse face in the center. Beneath it, in the recognizable Disney script, her name was embroidered. "Finn," she said yet again, feeling the sting of tears.

"Don't cry, lass." He held the t-shirt in front of her and nodded.

"But it's too much."

"Wait until tomorrow to say that. And you haven't given me an answer."

"What was the question?" she asked dumbly, brushing away her tears before they could fall.

"Will you go to Disney World with me?"

"Of course," she sniffled. Unaccustomed to so much candid generosity, she felt another wave of tears. She felt guilty for thinking that neither Paul or Dean had ever been so lavish in their gifts to her. Dean wasn't one to do something so outrageous. A confirmed penny-pincher, his gifts were usually need-based. And she was grateful to him for each time he'd shown up with a new pack of lightbulbs or a bag of groceries. She had a feeling that Paul would be more extravagant were their situation different, but she treasured the small things. Such as the delicate silver bracelet he'd given her for Christmas. And the many cups of coffee he always seemed to buy when she needed one the most.

"There, there," Finn murmured, and she realized she was crying in earnest now. Mindful of her shoulders, he was lightly patting her head. "You had a shit upbringing, didn't you?"

"Is it so obvious?" she whispered against his shoulder, fumbling to tuck the printed tickets back into the card.

"It doesn't matter," he decided after a moment. He pushed several tissues into her hand. "Dry your eyes, lass."

She did so, pulling away from him once the tears had abated. "Thank you," she said, crumping the tissues into a tight ball. "Really, Finn. You didn't have to do this."

"You're about to become the new Divas champion," he reminded, seemingly confident in the fact despite no official word yet of the outcome. "You deserve to be spoiled a little."

"A little?" she echoed with a snort. Mentally calculating the price of tickets to the most magical place on earth, and the card, and the obvious custom t-shirt, she winced. "You've spent a fortune."

"It's my money." He was folding the paper bag neatly. "Speaking of money, don't bring any tomorrow."

"What?!"

"This is my birthday present to you."

"But, Finn—"

"Ah, ah, ah." He sternly shook a finger. "I asked you to go, so I pay for everything."

"Finn—"

"I'm a gentleman, after all," he announced. "And a gentleman doesn't ask a lady out then expect her to pay her own way. It's a gift, lass. So…"

"So?" she prompted when he held out his hands.

"So, you either like it or lump it."

"Why are you so nice to me?" she asked suddenly, spreading the t-shirt over her lap. One finger traced the embroidered letters, and she wondered if she should tell him she'd never had anything personalized before.

"Because I like you. And you're nice to me."

"But I'm nice to you because you're nice to me."

He made a face. "Are we both really that nice?"

"Apparently so," she laughed as he pulled his phone from his pocket. His fingers began to move over the screen and she waited patiently, though her brow furrowed when she saw he was on Twitter. "You—"

"I have to tell everyone that you said yes to going out on a date with me," he informed.

"You do realize that some people are going to think you're serious," she muttered, reaching for her own phone. She opened Twitter and waited for his tweet to appear.

"I am serious. Tomorrow _is_ a date."

"Uh… It is?"

"Every day is a date. Twenty-fifth of December. Nineteenth of May. Fifth of—"

"God, you are such a goof," she groaned. But it was fun to play along with his silliness. So, retweeting his tweet, she added a couple of blushing emojis before posting, then closed the app and opened her messages from Sasha. "Look," she said, bringing up the first photo the other woman had sent. It was the two of them flanking Dusty, each kissing a cheek while he grinned.

"I love that," Finn enthused.

"And here's me with Sami," she said, swiping to the next. "Sasha said it looked like a prom photo," she added with a roll of her eyes. Finn laughed, and she swiped to the next, heart skipping a beat when she saw it was a photo of she and Paul in the ring. Just before he had done the suplex…

"That's a nice shot," Finn said, seeming to not notice that she kept the photo open a few seconds longer than necessary before swiping to the next. He chuckled at the sight of her with Paul again, their positions reversed. "Did you suplex him?"

"Yes," she answered. "I felt ridiculous doing it, but it came off well." She closed the photo and was about to send Sasha an enthusiastic message of thanks when a video arrived. "Sasha's the best," she muttered, opening the video. Finn leaned in closer to watch the footage of her being thrown by first Sami then by Paul, then of her throwing Sami and Paul. "Do you know how damned nerve-wracking it is to suplex your boss?"

"But you did it so well," he insisted, reaching to play the video again. She sensed him watching it critically, and saw the seriousness of his expression as he watched. "Your knees buckle just a little bit, but you carried through. A little practice and you'll be suplexing Lesnar in no time."

"Please, like that would ever happen."

"Dusty mentioned wanting to bring inter-gender matches back. He got on a tangent about treating women like porcelain dolls and how the women of NXT could kick anybody's ass if given a chance. Well, it's Dusty, so he was a little more colorful than that. But you get the idea."

"I do," she murmured with a smile. "With everything being politically correct and PG nowadays, I doubt it'll happen anytime soon."

"Never say never." Finn moved away, looking to his phone.

"What time are we leaving in the morning?" she asked after sending Sasha her thanks for the photos and video. Then, opening Instagram, she checked to see if the photo of them with Dusty had been posted. It had, by Sasha, and she went through the motions of reposting it, adding words of appreciation for Dusty's guidance.

"Magic Kingdom opens at eight, so I'll be here to pick you up at seven?" he suggested. "We can grab breakfast on the way."

"Sounds good to me." She locked her phone after checking the time.

"And I should be going. Get plenty of rest," he advised, and she had a feeling he would keep her at the park for the entire day. "Don't forget to put more spray on your shoulders."

"Yes, sir." She gave a salute and stood, following him to the door. "Thanks again. Really."

"See you in the morning." He opened the door to leave, then turned. "You're sure the boyfriend won't mind?"

"He won't," she promised.

"Still complicated?"

She sighed, realizing that it was, and always would be. And though it almost hurt to admit it aloud, she nodded. "Yep."

"Chin up, it'll all work out, lass." His accent thickened with the words, and he gave her a brief hug. "See you in the morning."

"I'll be ready." She held the door open, waving when he turned in the hallway to give her one last smile. Waiting until he'd disappeared down the stairwell, she closed the door and locked it with a sigh. She felt a slight headache from her bout of tears and, rubbing her temples gently, headed into the kitchen, sidestepping to grab her phone.

Dean answered on the third ring, sounding rushed. "Soph," he greeted. "What's up?"

She did the math and realized it was nearly six in Vegas. "Just calling to chat. You busy?"

"I got a few minutes."

She heard a clatter, then the unmistakable sounds of someone in the bathroom. "Going out?"

"Yeah, me and some of the guys are gonna do some bar crawling."

Thinking of the small group of men he'd befriended shortly after moving to Las Vegas, she wrinkled her nose. The times she'd spent with them had been in seedy bar after seedy bar, and her distaste for men who gulped down beer as though it would soon be outlawed had grown drastically. They were alright, she supposed, but she hadn't meshed well with them. And she hadn't liked the slight shift in Dean's persona when he was with them. "Oh," she murmured.

"You're not out?"

"No, nursing some minor mat burn I got in the ring this afternoon. But I've got big news."

"Yeah?" His voice held the tone of an indulgent smile. "What?"

"Finn's taking me to Disney World tomorrow."

"Disney?" She heard the hinge of his medicine cabinet door squeak, then the rattle of bottles. "Really?"

"I've never been. It's an early birthday present."

"Sweet."

Sophia felt awkward, and wasn't sure why. True, Dean had been borderline ignoring her for the past week, but it was rare that he didn't show excitement over something that excited her. Frowning, she opened the freezer and looked at the quart of vanilla ice cream she'd bought at the store. "I'll let you go."

"Soph—"

"I have to have an early night. We're going as soon as the gates open. So…" She impulsively grabbed the ice cream and pushed the door shut. "I guess I'll talk to you later."

"You want me to call you?" he asked with a sigh.

"No, have fun with your bar crawl. I'm heading to bed soon." As soon as she pigged out, she thought, not liking the morose feeling that had flooded her at his apparent indifference to her news. "Did I tell you that Nattie and Finn are throwing me a birthday party in the next couple weeks?"

"I heard about if from Ro."

"Oh." Of course. Pushing away the image of Roman walking with Stephanie, she opened the drawer to get a spoon. She wanted to ask if Dean would come, but, strangely, she wanted to be off the phone as soon as possible. Then she heard a muffled male voice and found her exit. "Talk to you soon."

"Soph—"

She ended the call. Stupidly, she waited a long moment to see if he would call her back immediately. When he didn't, she chastised herself for being an idiot and headed back into the living room. She found a mind-numbing movie on TV. And, tucked under a blanket and spoon in hand, strove to forget Dean and his unpredictable attitudes.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Taking a week or so off kind of ruined my flow for a bit, but I've got it back! I hope you didn't miss these crazy characters too much. Thank you to all for the fabulous reviews, and thanks to all who hit the favorite & follow buttons. No words can express how much it all means to me.**

 **Slightly related: Bittersweet will be back with an update on Monday. Also, I've realized that it's going to be another part coming after Monday's, so there are two more updates of that to look forward to if you follow the story. Once that's finished, I have several one-shot companion stories waiting to be posted.**

 **Disclaimer: I've never set foot in a Disney park. Any details mentioned that may be wrong are my own fault, but a special thank you to those I messaged here and on Twitter who gave me a little help. :)**

Chapter Twelve

The sky had been dark with threatening clouds when Sophia had gotten out of bed. It had grown darker while she waited for her coffeemaker to finish its job, and she had feared that the planned trip to Disney would be ruined by day of steady rain. But, as she took her first sip, looking out the window in her living room, the ominous clouds broke. The first rays of the sun shone through and she felt an immense relief as the clouds rolled off into the distance. Smiling now, she carried her coffee with her into the bathroom to ready herself for the day.

She had just pulled on the Mickey t-shirt when there was a knock at the door. "Hang on!" she called, reaching for a pair of capri-length stretch pants. After yanking them up she headed to the living room, pausing to glance through the peephole before reaching to unfasten the locks. "Hey," she greeted as she opened the door, smiling up at Finn. "Just let me get my shoes on and I'll be ready to go."

"No rush, I know I'm early." Finn stepped inside and closed the door.

"There's coffee if you want a cup," she called over her shoulder, already in her bedroom. She heard his soft reply and, growing excited now, rushed to get her shoes. Assuming they would be doing a lot of walking, she selected a pair of sneakers and, snatching a pair of socks from the top drawer, went into the living room to put them on.

Finn was standing in front of the faux mantel, a mug of coffee in one hand as he perused the handful of framed pictures that were mixed in with the cheesy souvenirs and one houseplant she hadn't yet managed to kill. "You signed to the company at headquarters?"

Without looking, she knew which picture he was indicating. She explained that she'd signed the contract in Regal's office, then had gone up for the grand tour of headquarters in Stamford. Where she'd officially met Vince McMahon, and had several publicity photos taken with Paul. It was one of only a handful of official pictures she had with him, and she'd only recently gotten around to framing it and putting it on the mantel.

"Is this your family?" Finn asked.

Sophia's head jerked up. Seeing the picture he'd taken down, she breathed a soft sigh. "No, that's Charles Smith and his wife Anne." She named the promotion that Charles owned and saw Finn's nod of recognition. "I was finishing up there when I signed on to WWE."

"No family photos?" he asked softly, putting the picture back on the mantel.

"No." Before he could question further, she blurted, "I don't have one. Not since I was sixteen."

Without meaning to, she looked up and met his gaze. It was unwavering, discerning, and she feared his pity. At the same time, though, she looked forward to his reaction.

He took a sip from his mug, glanced down into it, then nodded. "One day," he began gently, meeting her eyes again, "I want to hear that story."

"One day?" she repeated in confusion.

"One day," he confirmed. Setting his empty mug down next to hers on the coffee table, he reached for the envelope containing their tickets. "But not today. Today's a day of fun, lass. You ready for breakfast?"

As if on cue, her stomach gave a loud rumble. "Yes," she answered with a chuckle. "Just let me grab my purse—"

"No purse."

"What?" she croaked.

"You can bring your phone. Nothing else."

"Photo ID?" she suggested, thinking of all the horrific incidents that could occur.

"I suppose," he sighed. He tilted his head. "And you're not wearing makeup, so you don't need a purse."

"But what if—"

"Sophia," he groaned, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. "Phone. ID. Nothing else."

"Permission to bring a tube of lip balm, General?" she chirped, giving him a mock salute.

"Ugh, fine."

"Sunblock—"

"I've got some in the car."

"You're bossy," she announced, wrinkling her nose as she leaned to retrieve her purse from the opposite end of the couch. She pulled out her wallet and rummaged through it for her license, taking her time in the hopes he'd look away long enough for her to sneak some cash out as well. But he didn't, so she couldn't, and she shoved her wallet and purse away with a sigh.

"Is it so difficult, letting someone else take care of you for the day?"

"Yes, it is," she answered honestly, wondering just where she was supposed to put her license. The yoga pants she'd put on had no pockets, save for the tiny one inside the waistband designed to hold little more than a lip balm. Finally, turning her back to him, she reached beneath her shirt and pushed the license into the side of her bra, wriggling it back and forth and until it no longer dug into her flesh. "I've had to fend for myself for too long. Yeah, I've had a few people here and there that helped me along the way, but I learned awfully quickly not to trust anyone. And maybe it comes across as a bit bitchy to others. I don't know—What are you doing?"

She'd turned back just in time to see him digging into her wallet. Without saying a word, he pulled out a couple bills. Her wallet fell back onto her purse and he folded the bills neatly, then held them out to her. Still silent, he gestured for her to take them. She did so, reading the understanding in his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, she tucked the money into the tiny pocket in her yoga pants.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I don't understand completely, but I understand enough. And I hope one day you'll find you can trust me when I say I'm not going to leave you stranded."

She did trust him, though. Nodding just the same, she cleared her throat and muttered something about her phone before darting into the bedroom. She threw her hair into a loose ponytail, then unplugged her phone and switched it to silent. Feeling as though the money he'd handed to her were slicing into her hip, she rejoined him in the living room, smiling when she saw he'd taken their cups to the kitchen.

"I turned off your coffee maker." He pulled his keys from the pocket of his pants. "Ready?"

"Lip balm," she mumbled, going to dig a tube out of her purse. Once she had, she clutched it between her teeth while reaching to pull the folded bills from the tiny pocket. She dropped them on the couch and replaced them with the lip balm. "Now I'm ready."

* * *

Laughing as Finn practically dragged her along behind him, Sophia hurried to catch up with his longer stride. She had given up on trying to follow the park's map. Finn seemed to know where everything was and only consulted the map to double-check if she asked about a particular ride.

Breathless, she was grateful when he stopped in the dappled shade cast by a grove of trees. She felt as though she'd been running since they'd arrived. Fueled by a hearty breakfast, they had only stopped their zigzag roaming of the park for water and bathroom breaks. Surely it was past lunchtime, she mused as she took advantage of the stop to repair her falling ponytail.

"Where are we going now?" she asked.

"Lunch?" he suggested, glancing to his watch. "It's after twelve. Then we can go look in a few shops."

"You're the boss."

He snorted, and she remembered that she had been the one to request the majority of the rides they'd been on. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Something cool." The temperature was high for mid-January, even by Florida's standards, and she doubted she could handle as robust a meal as they'd had for breakfast. "And light."

"This way." He'd pulled out the map for a quick look.

They walked along, and Sophia breathed in the aromas of the park. She wasn't sure the source of the sweetness she smelled, but was certain it was a flower. It mingled in with the scents of freshly mown grass and sunbaked pavement. She could smell food from the many eateries. And the faint whiff of hand sanitizer. Chocolate. And, closest to her, Finn. It was either aftershave or cologne, she wasn't sure which. But it weaved in and out of the other smells, wrapping up a heady scent that she knew would be burned in her memory forever.

And the sounds. Music. Children's voices. The call of parents whose kids had run too far ahead. The clank and whoosh of roller coasters. Rapid-fire conversations in languages foreign to her. The gentle splatter of water from sprinklers. And again, closest to her, Finn. She doubted he was aware that he tended to hum under his breath when there was no conversation. She tilted her head slightly, trying to catch the melody, and felt her lips twitch.

Trust Finn to hum _It's A Small World_.

"Are you having fun, lass?" he asked, stepping away from her when a preschooler ran recklessly towards them.

Sophia watched the blur zip between them, followed by a harried-looking father, then glanced back in time to see the father snatch the child up. Smiling as the child's laughter rang in the air, she leaned against Finn once he'd stepped back. "Fun doesn't begin to cover it," she answered honestly. "How can I ever repay you?"

"You having a grand day is all the payment I need." His arm draped over her shoulders, and she followed his guidance towards a building off the main walkway. Bewildered when they entered and she saw a giant menu board along the wall behind the counter, she murmured that she'd trust his judgment in ordering.

They carried their food to the outdoor tables, and she spent several moments of watching fat birds hop between the tables looking for handouts. Finn set her phone on the table before going inside to fetch extra napkins, and she took the moment to check for messages. After replying to a few, she locked the phone and set it aside just as Finn returned.

The grilled chicken salad he'd ordered was delicious, and realized how ravenous she was once she started eating. They ate in relative silence, both amused by the antics of the birds. Sophia finished first and settled back in her chair, admiring the souvenir cup he'd gotten for her.

"Can I ask something?" The question was sudden, and he tilted his head before she could reply. "And don't say that I just did."

Sophia scoffed, not about to admit that she had been about so say exactly that. "Go ahead."

"It's about the boyfriend."

She hesitated. She recognized an offered out when presented with one. But, knowing she could lie with the best of them if need be, she merely motioned for him to continue.

"Why is it complicated?" He speared a piece of chicken with his fork and waved it in her direction. "You said he's in the company. I'm guessing he's on the road with you. So…"

"It's… He…" She picked up her cup and took a sip of the strawberry flavored water inside.

Finn waited quietly, and even though she wasn't looking at him she knew his eyes were understanding.

Eyes on her lap, she drew in a deep breath and released it in a sigh. "It's a dead end," she finally whispered, the words piercing her chest. "I know that it'll never be more than what we have now. I know that I can't have him completely. But…"

"But?" he prodded gently after a moment.

"But I hold onto what I have with him right now. Because I know that soon enough it'll be gone. And…" She saw his hand before it grasped hers in a gentle squeeze. Finally lifting her head, she blinked to fend off the sting of tears, finding the proper words to end her statement. "And I'll need something to hold onto when that happens."

"Why do you stay if you know it's a dead end?"

She longed to crack a joke. Suggest he was putting out feelers so he would know when he could try to get her for himself. Or something – anything – else that would ease the tension and change the subject. But, caught by the empathy in his knowing gaze, she knew that trying to divert would be the wrong thing to do. How could she explain it, though? How could she tell him that she stayed because she loved Paul, that even though she was certain it would end – possibly tragically – she was determined to enjoy every moment of the ride?

"Oh, lass," he sighed. He gave her hand another squeeze.

"Am I being stupid?"

"Isn't everyone when it comes to romance?"

"Point taken." Smiling faintly, she began gathering her trash. "Where to next?"

"Shops," he enthused, taking her trash before she could stand to throw it away.

"Window shopping?" she clarified, squeaking when he braced his hands on the table and leaned in close.

"If you think I'm going to bring you to Disney World and not buy you a pair of mouse ears, you've got another think coming." His voice was deeper than normal, his eyes were narrowed, and his brows drawn close together.

"Oh that was good." She laughed, actually snorting when the serious expression on his face morphed into confusion. "I've always wanted to see the Demon."

He groaned, then joined in her laughter while straightening. "Mouse ears," he said again. "Let's go."

* * *

"You know," Sophia began, keeping her voice soft while tracing one finger over her name, which was embroidered on familiar black cap. She and Finn were waiting for his to be finished. "I don't get spoiled often."

"Yes," Finn agreed with a nod.

"However…" She reluctantly handed over the hat to be wrapped and bagged. "After today, I could really get used to it."

He chuckled, reaching for his wallet. "I'll keep that in mind when I make my first million."

She opened her mouth to reply, only to jump in surprise upon hearing a familiar voice.

"Can I get a Princess hat, Daddy?"

Sophia turned while Finn waited to pay for their caps. And, seeing Paul's daughters entering the shop, she gasped in surprise. She'd had no idea that Paul had planned to bring them to the park. Paul was right behind them. She heard him chiding Vaughan to lower her voice. Not wanting to interrupt their quality time, she turned back in time to see the clerk handing Finn the receipt.

"Ready?" he asked, handing over the bag. When she nodded he turned from the counter, and she saw the recognition on his face. With a grin, he headed over to greet Paul.

She followed, surprised when Vaughan and Aurora came towards her with bright greetings. Murphy pulled herself away from a display of hats to greet her as well, and after hearing about their fun-filled morning, she looked to Paul.

He was talking to Finn, but he was watching the girls. When their gazes met she smiled, saw him smile in return. Murphy and Vaughan were talking over each other and she gave up trying to understand the two different topics. She sensed that Finn and Paul would be chatting for a few minutes and squatted down to speak to the girls.

"Why don't we go look at all the different hats?" she suggested, laughing when the question silenced the two chatterboxes. It was a brief silence, though, and as she guided them to the display on the far wall Vaughan launched into a detailed account of the rides she'd been on.

Somehow, looking at the hats morphed into her helping them choose just the right hat for each of them. Before she realized it, Aurora had received her father's permission to get the hats embroidered with their names, and Sophia managed to keep all three girls together during the wait. At the counter, a large arm reached around her to pay. Glancing back and up, she was greeted with Paul's warm smile. He was standing close and she could smell his cologne.

They walked out together. She was ready to say goodbye, because surely Paul and the girls would want to continue spending their day alone. But, to her surprise, she found that they continued on as a group. Somehow, she walked with Aurora and Murphy, keeping a firm hold on their hands. Watching Paul carry Vaughan on his hip, she was struck again by the closeness he had with his daughters. Aurora slipped her hand free and went to walk between her father and Finn. She expected Murphy to do the same, but the girl seemed content to stay with her.

"Is this your first time here?" Sophia asked.

"No. We come here whenever we stay with Daddy for a few days."

Of course. While Murphy didn't quite seem jaded by the park and all it contained, there was an air of someone who'd been there a few times before. She didn't stop to gaze at particular sites. Ahead of them, Vaughan was enthusing over everything. Sophia had detected the previous morning that Murphy was a bit more reserved than her younger sister.

"Are you and Finn going to get married?"

The question caused her to miss a step, and she recovered quickly. "What? No, definitely not. He's just a very good friend."

"He's nice. One time, we were at the NXT show and he painted my face. Daddy!"

"Yeah?" Paul looked back, shifting Vaughan to his other hip.

"Do you have that picture of me when Finn painted my face?"

"You can show me later," Sophia assured with a laugh.

"Princess Sofia!" Vaughan squealed.

It took Sophia a moment to realize that Vaughan was talking about a character. Not recognizing the girl in the purple dress that was waving as they all approached, she was about to ask what movie she was from when Murphy explained about the Disney Junior show. There was a moment's confusion while the girls moved to have their picture taken, and Sophia reached for Paul's phone.

"Go join them," she insisted gently. "I'll take pictures for you."

Before she knew it, the pictures were taken and she was being nudged towards the costumed character. Vaughan insisted she take a picture with Sofia, so she posed and smiled while both Finn and Paul held up their phones to capture the moment.

"Why didn't you tell me there was a Princess Sofia?" she asked Finn once they'd walked on. "I'm a freaking Disney Princess and you didn't tell me!"

"I don't watch the kiddie shows," Finn defended, laughing when she pushed on his shoulder.

"Princess Sophia," Murphy teased.

"Daddy says we're his princesses," Vaughan informed. Walking on her own now, she held onto her father's hand, arm swinging with unnecessary speed. "He's the king!"

"Of kings," Finn added.

"You need a tiara," Aurora suggested.

"Is Sophia your princess too?" Vaughan asked. "You gotta buy her a tiara, Daddy! Just like ours."

"That's really not—"

"All good kings buy their princesses pretty tiaras," Vaughan went on. "She needs one, Daddy!"

Next to her, Finn began to chuckle. "I think you'll be getting a tiara whether you want one or not, lass."

"There's a store! Let's go buy one!" Murphy released Sophia's hand and ran forward to tug on her father's shirt. "Please, Daddy?"

"Okay, okay," Paul finally answered, grinning. He reached for his wallet, then pulled out a crisp bill. Handing it over to Finn, he nodded towards the store. "Do you mind taking them in? I need to talk to Sophia for a minute."

He did? Sophia watched Finn herd the girls into the store, then turned to Paul. "I—"

"Over here," he murmured, motioning to a flower garden tucked between the shop and the next building. A pebbled walkway wound through the flowers, and as they approached she thought she heard the faint splashing of a fountain.

"This is so beautiful," she whispered as the followed the walkway. Tall trees offered bits of shade. They rounded a slight bend and she saw a marble fountain set among rosebushes. She couldn't resist dipping her fingers into the cool water for a brief splash. Turning to look at Paul, she tempted fate and reached for his hand. There was no one around, and they would hear the girls before they got close. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

"This," he whispered before leaning to capture her lips with his.

The magic of the day transcended its earlier levels, and she sank into the gentle kiss, holding onto the front of his shirt for stability. His lips moved to her cheek and she sighed. "I didn't know you'd be here," she whispered. "If you want to be alone with your daughters, I—"

"Good luck trying to pry them off you now," he chuckled. "They adore you."

"Really?" She felt her own silly grin just before his lips found hers again. Once he'd moved to press soft kisses over her cheek again, she sighed. "I adore them, too."

"I know." His lips grazed over hers once more, then he pulled back. "I didn't forget about Tuesday."

She blinked, still reeling from his caressing kisses. "What about… Oh," she breathed, cheeks warming. It had been their anniversary. A full year since that night he'd shown up to her apartment. A year since she'd first tasted heaven. "Paul…"

"I remember everything when it comes to us." He was talking softly, words melding with the splashing in the fountain.

"Everything?" she asked, staring up at him in awe.

"We met on a Friday."

"Yes," she confirmed. Thinking of the invitation to coffee that had turned into two hours in the diner, she smiled.

"Our first night together was a Monday. One year ago."

"You do remember," she mused with a grin.

"I told you."

"Do—" She cut off at the sound of children's laughter, stepping away from Paul. But the laughter faded and it was with a sigh of relief that she turned to him again, keeping her voice at a whisper. "Do you ever regret it?"

"Not at all." He looked at her thoughtfully for a brief moment, then held out his hand. "You?"

"Never," she promised, slipping her hand into his.

"What are you doing Saturday?"

"Uh…" She blanked, and it took her a few seconds to recall her schedule. "Nothing. I might go to the NXT show in Tampa, but I'll probably be packing for next week. Why?"

"The girls are going back home tomorrow." He paused, and she judged by the brief look of disgust that the decision had been made for him. "Anyway, I'd like see you. So we can celebrate."

"Dinner?" she suggested.

"Dinner," he confirmed.

"I'd love to."

* * *

"Getting tired?"

Slumped on a bench, Sophia answered Finn's inquiry with a grunt. An afternoon spent in the company of the Levesque girls had practically worn her out. She had fretted a few times that Finn would feel Paul and his daughters had invaded their special day, but the man had given no indication of such. If anything, he'd seemed to enjoy their company. Recalling the way he'd all but chased down Mickey Mouse so Vaughan could have a photo with him, she laughed.

"Oh, she's gotten delirious on me," Finn sighed, flopping down next to her.

"I have not. I'm just wishing I'd videoed you tackling Mickey."

"I didn't tackle him," Finn defended. "I just cornered him."

"The poor man in the suit probably pissed himself, what with you hollering at him." Sophia laughed again and pushed herself upright. "To answer your question, though, yes, I'm tired. But it's a good tired."

"I need you to drum up just a bit more energy." When she glanced at him in confusion, he smiled. "The fireworks will be starting soon. Then we can get you home."

"I'm fine," she assured. "Just getting my second wind."

"That's what you said after Splash Mountain."

"My third wind, then."

"How many winds do you have?" he asked with a chuckle, one hand reaching to the top of her head. "Your tiara's crooked."

She instantly reached to adjust it. "I'd take it off, but the girls were so cute about putting it on me." They'd practically put on a ceremony, rattling off lines and speeches from so many princess movies. "I don't want to hurt their feelings when they get back from the bathroom."

"Oh, admit it, you just like being the King's new princess," Finn teased.

Her cheeks heated and she chose to ignore the statement, heart giving a funny little lurch when she thought of Vaughan insisting Paul give her a kiss. She'd immediately protested, but Paul had smiled indulgently. And although the kiss had been an innocent one, pressed to her cheek, it was the light in his eyes that made her feel as though she walked on clouds.

The chattering of the girls coming from the bathroom pulled her out of her thoughts, and her heart warmed when Vaughan skipped over to climb into her lap.

"Can you fix my hair?" she requested, turning so Sophia could see the unkempt ponytail. "Daddy can't braid."

Sophia sat up for better access and began working her fingers through the long hair. "Maybe we should send Daddy to hair styling school so he can learn?"

"But I like you doing it," Vaughan protested.

About to remind the girl that she couldn't braid her hair every day, Sophia instead remained silent, shifting slightly when Aurora sat next to her. Murphy squeezed between her and Finn, rummaging through the bags to find the one that contained the shirts she'd gotten at one of the stores. Once Vaughan's hair was braided, Sophia secured it and impulsively pressed a kiss to the top of the girl's head.

"Thanks. Is it time for the fireworks yet? Daddy, are we going to see the fireworks? Princess Sophia's never seen them before. She's never been here before, did you know that? This is her first time! So can we take her to the fireworks? And get ice cream? I want ice cream. I'm not too full from supper. Please?"

Sophia snorted on a laugh as she helped Vaughan down. Ice cream sounded nice, but she kept her mouth shut while Vaughan continued bombarding her father with requests. Gathering her bags and trying not to mentally add up how much Finn had spent on her throughout the day, she turned to the quiet man at her side. "Getting tired?"

"Not on your life," he muttered.

The next hour passed in a blur. Sophia could do little but keep up with the others, trying her best not to get sidetracked by the lights and shadows that had come out to play since the sun had gone down. The park, which had seemed magical all day, exuded a dreamlike essence after nightfall. With Aurora holding her hand, she trailed along to what Finn insisted was the best spot to watch the fireworks.

Standing near the fence, she gazed out at the lit-up castle across the water, mindful of the girls just in front of her. Was this how it felt to be a parent? she wondered. She could easily get lost in the experience, she knew, but she found herself constantly checking to make sure all three were where they were supposed to be. She felt silly doing so, for Paul kept them easily in line. Yet even know she reached to catch Vaughan and pull her closer to her sisters, having a feeling that the girl would easily slip away. Aurora and Murphy shuffled, tugged their baby sister in between them, and Sophia breathed a little easier.

She gasped when the first rocket screamed high above, its explosion setting off a shower of twinkling sparks. Sensing someone move closer to her, she tore her gaze from the sky to find Paul next to her. More fireworks flew, their colors lighting up his face, and she thought nothing of it when his hand moved to rest at the small of her back. She turned her attention back to the fireworks, unconsciously leaning against him.

When it was over, she joined in the applause. It drowned out her sigh of regret when Paul's arm fell away. Leaning down to retrieve the bags she'd tucked between her feet, she heard Finn telling Paul that he would see him at the Center the next day. Her day of magic was at an end. She kept a smile on her face, enthusing with the girls over the delightful fireworks as the six of them strolled to the exit. Standing to the side to avoid being in the way, she gave each girl a tight hug, promising to see them soon.

"We're going to Raw," Aurora announced, returning Sophia's embrace. "Daddy promised."

"Then I'll definitely see you Monday." Sophia stepped back.

There was a chorus of goodbyes, then Vaughan tugged impatiently at her father's shirt.

"Daddy, you didn't kiss Princess Sophia goodbye," she protested.

"He doesn't have to—"

"Daddy always kisses princesses," Vaughan insisted.

"I have to, otherwise she'll curse me and turn me into a bear," Paul informed with a chuckle. Stepping forward, he lightly cupped Sophia's shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Good night," she whispered as he pulled away. There was another chorus of goodbyes after they'd exited the park.

As she and Finn headed in the opposite direction, she couldn't help but glance back at Paul and the girls. Her already high spirits lifted even more when Paul looked back as well. She returned the brief smile he offered, then turned her attention ahead of her.

Next to her, Finn was silent as they trekked to where his car was parked. Sophia felt content, buoyant after a magical day in a magical place. Pleasantly exhausted, she looked forward to a hot shower and a good night's sleep. She was sure her dreams would be happy ones. Handing over the shopping bags she carried when Finn opened the trunk, she breathed in the cool night air.

Once inside the car, she accepted her phone from Finn, letting it rest on her leg while she buckled her seatbelt. She drew in a breath to begin wholeheartedly thanking him for a wonderful day, but he spoke first.

"He's the one you want but can never have completely, isn't he?"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: No, I didn't forget this story. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Chin propped on his hand, Paul idly flipped through the approved script for the night, his other hand lightly bouncing a pen against the desk. Sighing when he reached the last page, he signed off on it and was rising to hand it to Ed when the door swung open. He and his assistant winced when it banged against the wall. Stephanie marched in, shot one look at Ed, and twitched her head. Without a word, the young man grabbed the script and was out of the room in an instant, pulling the door shut behind him.

Paul dragged a hand down his face. "Is something wrong?" he asked, even though it was obviously something had gotten under her skin. She propped her hands on her hips and leveled him with a cool glare. When she didn't speak, he cleared his throat. "What?"

"Sophia." She sneered the name, lips curling as though the syllables tasted sour.

"What about her?"

"I just had the most fascinating conversation with the girls." Stephanie tossed her hair behind her shoulders.

Paul's heart dropped to his stomach. "Oh?" he inquired, face impassive. What had the girls said? What could they have said? He'd made damned sure to keep a respectable distance from Sophia while they had enjoyed the afternoon in—

"Kindly keep your whore away from my daughters."

He was on his feet in an instant. Mouth opening to defend Sophia, he stayed silent when his wife arched a brow.

"So it's true." She looked pleased with herself. Like she'd won a game. "You're fucking her."

"Steph—"

"The question is… Why?" She tilted her head. "There are more beautiful women around you on a daily basis. Why would you possibly be interested in her?"

He refused to answer. She wouldn't understand. If he spent the rest of his life giving her the reasons he had begun his affair with Sophia, she would never be able to comprehend them. Keeping his face blank, he waited for her to continue.

"How long?" She perched on the edge of his desk, primly folding her hands over her knees.

"Does it matter?" he asked bitterly.

"I suppose it doesn't. Still, it's curious. She's a no one, Paul. No family, no real friends…" Her smile was pure ice. "Does she have daddy issues? Is that it?"

Paul flinched at the sharp words, meant to pierce. He didn't need the reminder that Sophia was, technically, young enough to be his daughter. He rarely thought of it. Sometimes, when she was brimming with energy, vigorous even after a long day, it occurred to him that he was ancient compared to her.

"You're disgusting," Stephanie growled.

He almost laughed, and instead shook his head in disbelief. Then, because he had to know, he looked to her. "How did you find out?"

"The girls kept telling me how _wonderful_ Sophia is. Then Vaughn mentioned how _happy_ Daddy was all afternoon." Her lips curled in disgust. Paul wondered if she was hurt by the knowledge their daughters had enjoyed time with a woman that wasn't her, or simply mad. "All it took was fifteen minutes on social media to figure it out. Did you know that every picture you've posted from the Performance Center has her in it? She's either in the background, or brazenly front and center. But it was the pictures Sasha posted that made it clear as a bell."

Sasha? Paul rifled through his memory. It was impossible for him to keep tabs on what all the talent posted all the time, and he couldn't immediately remember any damning pictures posted by Sasha. Then, when Stephanie mimicked his blank expression, he sighed. "What pictures?"

"Sophia, darling of the NXT division and now darling of Raw and SmackDown, getting hands-on training from you in the ring."

The suplexes. Nodding, Paul wondered what he should say. Or do. He'd already confirmed her suspicions. Trying to backtrack now would make him look like a fool. He waited for the guilt, the shame. When neither arrived in a timely manner he considered the possibility that he was as bad as Stephanie, if not worse.

"Well? What are you going to do now?" she barked.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He voiced the question, more sharply than intended, and met her steely glare with his own.

"You have work to do."

He thought of the myriad things he needed to finish before the show began. The photos that needed to be taken, the upcoming storylines he needed to go over with the creative team. He knew she didn't mean either of those tasks, though, and merely lifted a brow in question.

"You have to snap your fingers or whatever you do to summon her and tell her you can't see her anymore." She slipped off the desk and picked up a copy of the script.

Paul froze. "What?"

"The girls couldn't stop talking about how much fun they had with her. That can't happen again. You can fuck who you want to, Paul, but not her. She might start getting ideas if you keep bringing her around the girls."

Ideas. He'd had ideas himself, when lying wide awake after that exhausting day with his daughters. And Sophia. Ideas that he probably shouldn't have had, because there was no way on earth he could ever make them happen. Drawing in a deep breath, he expelled it slowly, needing to remain calm. "The girls won't see her again."

"Oh, Paul." Stephanie laughed. "They'll see her at events and shows."

"Other than that," he ground out.

"Of course they won't. Because you're cutting her off." The script landed on the desk with a whispering flutter.

"No."

"Yes," she hissed. "God, you're making a fool of yourself. Flying her to Orlando on the private jet. Impromptu training sessions at the Performance Center so your little protégé can perfect her suplexes. She's getting the belt at the Rumble. She's been your little darling since she started down at NXT. Why no one's put it together yet is a mystery to me."

"She's getting the belt because Vince—"

"Right. We both know he's starting to listen to you about your NXT darlings." She leaned across the desk and picked up his phone, slapping it into his palm. "Break it off Paul."

"And if I don't?" he challenged when she'd turned away.

"I'll make sure she doesn't get the belt." Stephanie fluffed her hair and glanced back at him. "If it's not done by next Monday, I'll make sure she's released."

"Stephanie—"

"Do it, Paul. Or you'll be the one not allowed to see the girls again."

* * *

"Looks great," Sophia enthused, tilting her head from side to side to view herself in the brightly-lit mirror. Leaning back so the drape could be removed, she released a soft sigh of relief. She doubted she would ever enjoy sitting in a chair for her makeup to be applied. Just as she doubted she would ever get used to how much makeup they put on her. When the stylist patted her shoulders she made sure to offer effusive thanks while slipping out of the chair.

She was turning to head for the locker room when she nearly slammed into Stephanie. Taking a couple steps back, she managed an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she blurted.

"I need to speak with you before you get too busy."

"Of course." It was no doubt a last-minute change to her scheduled promo with Nikki. The script writers had already changed the wording four times. At this rate, she would end up flubbing her lines.

Stephanie motioned with her hand and turned on her heel to lead the way.

Pressing her glossed lips together, Sophia followed. As she walked, she slipped her phone from the pocket of her shorts, brow furrowing when she saw she had two missed calls from Paul. She would call him after talking to Stephanie. As soon as she made the decision, her screen flashed with a text, and her steps faltered when she registered the words.

 _Come see me asap._

About to reply that she would be there after her talk with Stephanie, she instead pushed the phone back into her pocket when the woman ahead of her opened a door. After peering inside, she pushed the door open fully and stepped inside. Sophia bit the inside of her lip as she followed, not liking the sudden feeling of dread. The door snapped closed and she jumped slightly, eyes moving to Stephanie.

"Relax," the woman insisted with a smile. Instead of exuding warmth and comfort, though, it sent an unexpected chill down Sophia's spine.

"What did you need to speak with me about?"

Stephanie motioned to one of the folding chairs in the center of the small room. Sophia couldn't fathom the room's purpose, for it was barely larger than a closet. One of the bulbs in the ceiling kept flickering, and there was the stale aroma of pine-scented cleaner.

She perched on the chair, warily noticing that Stephanie opted to stand. A power move, she supposed. A way to show that she intended to remain in control of the conversation.

"How long have you been sleeping with my husband?"

The air left Sophia's lungs in a rush. Eyes widening, she could only stare at the other woman. Had she been able to come up with an answering statement, her body wouldn't have cooperated. Her lips moved silently, her heart began to pound. Pressing her knees together, she swallowed anxiously and attempted to draw in a breath.

"I asked you a question. How long?"

"I—" Sophia pushed one hand against her abdomen, as though to calm the twisting sensation in her gut. "What do you—"

"Don't play innocent. A month? Six? A year?"

Panicked, Sophia could only nod. She saw Stephanie's eyes narrow and managed to croak, "A year."

"I see."

"I didn't—"

"Mean for it to happen? Of course not. Your type never does." Stephanie straightened her shoulders, one corner of her mouth ticking upward in a smirk. "If you didn't mean for it to happen, it wouldn't still be happening."

"I'm…" She couldn't apologize. She refused to. She would never be able to say she was sorry for what had happened. For the circumstances, yes, but never for the events. Never for the feelings.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Taken aback by the softness that had invaded Stephanie's voice, Sophia blinked rapidly to ward off the tears. They welled, hot and heavy and blurring her vision, and stupidly all she could think was that she would have to get her makeup repaired. Sucking in a breath, she dropped her gaze. She wouldn't admit her feelings. She hadn't even voiced them to Paul, how could she be expected to tell Stephanie?

"You little fool," Stephanie sneered.

Sophia jerked her head up, the motion sending tears down her cheeks.

"The number one rule of fucking around is to never let your heart get involved. What did you think would happen? He'd divorce me and marry you?" Stephanie snorted. "He'd give up everything he's worked so hard for his entire adult life just to run away with you?"

"I…" Sophia swallowed again, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth. She had known that would never happen. Shaking her head, she brought up a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. God, how had Stephanie found out? She and Paul had been so careful. At least, they'd tried to be. Raising her head, she gasped when she saw that Stephanie had bent over so their faces were level.

"Did you think you were the first?"

Yes, she had, after she had asked Paul. She bit her lip, recalling his soft promise that he had never strayed from his vows until her. She supposed she had felt a little bit of a thrill, because what woman wouldn't if a man basically admitted she was irresistible? But, faced with Stephanie's scornful tone, she realized Paul had no doubt lied. The realization hurt. Of course, a man who would cheat on his wife would undoubtedly lie as well…

"Oh, you poor thing." There was no sympathy in Stephanie's voice. "You're not the first."

"I realize that now," she whispered.

"And you're definitely not the last."

That stung more than the knowledge she wasn't the first. Trying her very best to regulate her breathing, she gave her head a small shake. She felt claustrophobic and leaned back.

"You're going to do two things," Stephanie continued. She waited until Sophia looked at her and held up her index finger. "First, you're going to stay away from my daughters. They're young, impressionable, and still think the sun rises and sets by Paul. You won't be messing with their heads."

Sophia managed a shaky nod, sure she felt her hear splinter in her chest. Thinking of quiet Aurora, boisterous Vaughn, and sweet Murphy, she cupped a hand over her mouth to smother an unexpected sob. She adored them.

"Second," Stephanie barked, middle finger joining her index, "I expect this to end immediately. If I so much as think you're still fucking my husband, I will make your life a living hell."

Her fractured heart shattered. Despite her attempts to keep them at bay, Paul began to fill her mind. His smile. Not the one he used in public, but his real smile, the one that lit up his face and brightened his eyes. His arms, so strong and secure and as comfortable as a warm coat on a winter's night. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat, which never failed to silence her rambling thoughts. His voice. His kisses. His warmth. His presence. Him. With each tiny image that flittered through her mind more sobs rose in her throat, until she was weeping freely.

"Stick to unmarried guys in the future, honey."

She'd forgotten Stephanie was still there. Sniffling, she cleared away more tears, hating that there was nothing she could do to defend herself. She knew damned well that if she tried to, she would be wished well in her future endeavors before the end of the night. With a shuddering breath she jerked her head in a nod, painfully aware of her phone vibrating in her pocket. A series of long, insistent vibrations that indicated a call. Knowing who it was, she bit down hard on her bottom lip.

"Go pack your stuff. You're done for the night." Stephanie straightened to her full height. As though it greatly pained her, she waved her arm gallantly. "I'll tell everyone you're sick."

Was she supposed to thank her? Sophia dragged herself to her feet, legs trembling, fearing she wouldn't be able to make it to the locker room without breaking down. She managed another nod and desperately attempted to wipe all the tears from her face. Just when she was about to step forward so she could escape, she collapsed back into the chair with a pained cry, cupping her hand over burning cheek. She hadn't seen the slap coming, hadn't even seen Stephanie's arm move. Her ears rang from the blow, and she gaped at Stephanie in horror.

"That's just a warning." Brushing her palms against her thighs, as though she were clearing them of inconsequential dust, Stephanie lifted her chin. "I'll see you tomorrow night at the taping."

* * *

Neither spoke for so long that Paul feared they never would. She hadn't said a word to him since they'd passed in the hallway before Raw. Six hours had passed since then. He'd been incensed when he'd learned she'd left the show early, due to sudden illness, because he'd known she wasn't sick. She hadn't answered his calls, or his texts. And when he'd shown up at her hotel room, after getting her room number from the timid desk clerk, she had stared at him for several long moments before stepping back to let him inside.

She was sitting in the straight-backed chair at the small desk. He didn't think she'd moved since sitting down. He sat across from her, in the uncomfortable armchair. He knew he hadn't moved. Hunched forward, elbows on his knees, he'd barely blinked in the thirty minutes since he'd sat down. She looked… Horrible. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed. Her vibrant curls were held back with a clip. The tip of her nose was pink. Her lips were dry. If he didn't know better, he would think she truly was ill. Anyone that looked at her would think she had a bad cold, or horrendous allergies.

The silence in the room was deafening. Every once in a while he heard the distant chime of the elevator, and occasionally a siren from beyond the curtained window. When he focused, he could just make out the ticking of his wristwatch.

He didn't know what to say.

She moved, and he was so surprised by the sudden motion that it took him a moment to register that she was standing. His eyes followed her across the room, watching as she opened her suitcase and pulled out the bottle of whiskey that, for some reason, she always took with her. He had never seen her drink more than one shot. She twisted off the cap and lifted the bottle to her lips, grimacing as the first swig was swallowed. To his surprise, she turned and walked towards him, extending the bottle. He took it, eyes still on her, setting the bottle on the floor when he saw tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she gasped as he rose to his feet. She looked away, muscles in her throat working, and pressed her face to his chest when he wrapped his arms around her.

"Sophie," he whispered, still unsure what to say. Whispering her name again, he buried his face in her hair. "Don't. You did nothing wrong."

"But…" Her shoulders shook, and an instant later he felt hot tears saturate his shirt. Hugging her closer, he breathed in the scent of her shampoo, closing his eyes when she released a muffled sob. "Paul…"

"I know," he breathed, lifting his head when she leaned back. Weakened at the sight of tears rolling down her cheeks, he tenderly brushed them away. "I know, sweetie."

"She said—" Sophia began to shake her head and pressed her face to his chest once more.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," she mumbled.

It did, at least to him, but he decided against pressing the matter. Holding her as she cried, he didn't bother attempting to soothe her. He didn't have the strength. Closing his eyes again, he let the silence stretch between them, sighing when she raised her head. He lifted a hand to lightly cup her cheek.

"Please," she sniffled, leaning her cheek against his palm. Her hand lightly clutched his wrist, and his heart broke anew when her lower lip trembled.

"What?" he asked softly. "What do you need?"

"You." Her voice was strong and clear, though punctuated by a small, gasping sigh. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at him. Broken and shattered. And, despite her tears, despite her red nose and red eyes, still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. "I need you. Just one more night, Paul."

Paul knew he should say no. Knew he should pull away, should tell her it couldn't happen. But, even as the words began to form on his tongue, he dipped his head and caught her lips in a tender kiss. She tasted of whiskey and strawberries. Of love and warmth. Of heartbreak. And he became conscious of the fact that he needed her. Just once more.

"Please." It was barely a whisper. Perhaps he dreamed it passing her lips once he'd broken the kiss. "All I want is one more night with you."

"Sophie…" He wavered, Stephanie's threats haunting the back of his mind. But… One more night. Just a few hours in her arms. A few hours to fully memorize her. A brief window of time to show her that he did indeed love her, even though he'd never had the nerve to say it aloud. And now he couldn't.

Her arms slipped around his neck as he leaned to offer another kiss. They trembled, as did the rest of her body, and she moved her lips to his jaw before pressing a reverent kiss to his brow. He lifted her, arms wrapping snugly around her as he carried her to the bed. Leaning to place her in the center, he found himself unable to draw back and reached to clear away the last of her tears. Then, fingers sweeping his cheek, she whispered, "I love you."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Holy moly, I loved all the feedback from the last chapter! You guys are amazing. Enjoy this next installment! :)**

Chapter Fourteen

He glanced to his left, one hand smoothing his loose hair away from his face. He glanced to his right, then back to his left just in case. Tongue darting over his lips, he checked both ways again, finally rapping his knuckles against the door. He didn't wait to be asked in, knowing he was already expected. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

She was reading something on her phone, so he kept silent. Watching her. Waiting.

It was only supposed to have happened once. Then just one more time. Just another time. Please. The 'just once more' had turned into 'my office' and 'my hotel room' and he had no idea how it had snowballed. But it had, and he was caught.

It wasn't love. Of that he was sure. She didn't plague his thoughts when she wasn't around. When a rendezvous wasn't planned, he didn't seek her out just to be in her presence. He didn't dream of better things for them. He didn't dream of them – or her – at all, aside from the occasional lusty dream brought on by her penchant for lewd texts late at night.

No, not love. Just good old-fashioned lust. Once it was satisfied the guilt would return, but he'd grown used to it now. It was just a nagging voice now and then, and it always disappeared when she whispered how damn good he was.

She slapped her phone down on the dresser with a muttered curse, breaking him from his thoughts, and he lifted an eyebrow when she crossed the room towards him.

"He's with her."

Roman didn't ask who 'her' was. He'd heard about 'her' off and on since he'd submitted to being Stephanie's plaything. Whoever she was, he admired her, because whenever Stephanie was fired up about 'her' it always benefitted him. Glancing around the room, he almost pointed out that it was obvious her husband was with 'her.' Because why else would he have been summoned?

"You're friends with Sophia, aren't you?"

Shocked at the name, he lurched back, head banging against the closed door. Sophia? "Um, yeah," he answered, suddenly wondering if there would be sex. "Why?"

"I need you to keep an eye on her." Stephanie removed her shirt. "Make sure she's staying out of trouble."

He was momentarily distracted by her bared breasts, but managed a nod. Confusion and lust warred within him, and for once, lust didn't win. "What did Sophie do?"

"My husband."

Blinking, certain he'd misheard, he could only stare as she began tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. He obediently raised his arms so she could remove it, mind scrambling to make sense of it all. Sophia. And Paul? He was old enough to be her father… It had to be a joke. He chuckled, sucking in a breath when her lips caressed his chest. "No, really, what did she do?"

"I told you. She's been fucking him for a year now."

"Really?" He'd had no idea. He had figured she was seeing someone, especially once Dean had started acting stupid over her. Which wasn't too rare. Dean was always stupid over Sophia. It was weird, their relationship. Best friends, practically siblings. Over the years Roman had seen that there was the possibility they could be more, but neither of them seemed inclined to make that move. Did Dean know? No, he couldn't. Paul would have been dead already. There was no doubt in Roman's mind that Dean would have murdered him with his bare hands if he'd had any inkling that he was sleeping with Sophia.

"Keep up, Roman."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. He had to keep her happy. Otherwise he'd be dropped to the bottom of the card. He was sure of that.

"I don't care what you do, just make sure she's not fucking him anymore." Stephanie flipped her hair over her shoulder as her lips moved lower. "Fuck her yourself if you have to. Whatever. Just do it."

"But—"

Her tongue swept over his hip as her hands pushed his sweatpants down, stealing his breath. "You'll do it," she murmured, teeth stinging his flesh.

"I can't fuck _Sophie_."

"Just keep her from fucking Paul. Can you do that?" She sounded exasperated. "For me, Roman?"

Her mouth closed around him and he would have promised her anything. "Yes, Steph…"

* * *

Sophia did her best not to cry. For so many years she had learned how best to keep her emotions in check, to never show signs of weakness. It seemed that her emotions refused to be kept back, though. They had for months, when she'd finally seen that she loved Paul. Holding onto him, panting from the bittersweet lovemaking, she kept her eyes closed, face pressed to his shoulder. To her horror, she couldn't immediately remember the delight he had wrought from her body. She continued to cling to him, even after the perspiration on her body began to dry, relief bringing tears to her eyes as her memory returned.

She moved first. She had to, because she knew she would make the parting only more difficult otherwise. And she refused to let their last moments be filled with her clutching and sobbing. She would sob later. It pained her to do so but she scooted away from him, knowing there could be no cuddling. Cuddling would lead to sleeping which would lead to a hasty goodbye before dawn. Which would cheapen everything.

She almost laughed. As though having an affair with a married man could be cheapened any further.

"Sophie," he said softly.

Her toes had just met the carpet at the side of the bed and she stilled, looking at him over her shoulder. He was sitting up. Catching his gaze, she knew she should move but was powerless to do so, and when his fingers brushed down the length of her arm she gasped. She wanted to curse him for the gentle way he drew her back to his side, but knew she was to blame as well. She could have slipped away if she had truly wanted to.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself the few quiet moments to simply enjoy being next to him. His arm was as thick and heavy and tucked around her as securely as ever. His skin was warm beneath her fingers. His heartbeat was a steady, comforting rhythm beneath her palm. His lips gentle against the top of her head. His breath soft in her hair. He covered her hand with his, and she opened her eyes to see their fingers intertwine.

He didn't speak so neither did she. She was aware of the time passing but didn't measure the seconds or moments. At some point, with mutual sighs, they pulled apart. Her heart gave a lurch at the loss of his warmth, but she slid to the edge of the bed and stood. Fabric rustled and she knew he was getting dressed, so she grabbed her discarded shirt and pulled it on. She could still feel him on her body. Could still smell him.

Later, she would scrub it all away in the shower.

Maybe.

She could practically hear every button he fastened. Would he return to his wife smelling of her? Longing to wish he was so callous, she set her jaw. It was either that or let those waiting tears begin to fall.

Moments blurred and before she could catch a breath she was following him to the door. There was so much she wanted to say. So much she felt she had to say. But she stayed silent. So did he. He brought her close and she released a shuddering gasp, realizing it would be the last time. She held onto him, whispering his name, whispering the three words she'd never allowed herself to utter in his presence before. She'd said them earlier, and he'd whispered them back while making love to her.

He said them now, too, and it took every final scrap of her strength to bursting into tears.

He said other things. Promises. Reassurances. Little nothings that were probably meant to make the moment easier. He kissed her, tenderly and reverently, and she forced herself to let go.

Then he was gone.

She managed to wait until she was in the shower before allowing herself to cry. She scrubbed her body clean, then stood under the hot water for what felt like hours. When she finally exited the bathroom her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't sleep – or try, because she doubted sleep would come – in her bed. It smelled of him. The pillow still held the indentation of his head. To crawl into the bed and be surrounded by the scent of him would be her complete downfall.

She thought of calling Dean. He would let her stay in his room. No questions asked. And he'd make sure she slept. He'd worry over her and hold her close and talk softly until she was able to get rest. But he'd been so distant…

Frustrated, she pulled on clean sweats and her hoodie. Once dressed, she looked from the bed to the wingback armchair she could tell would be uncomfortable. No. She couldn't. Remembering to grab her key and phone, she left her room and had walked to the other end of the hallway before realizing she had no idea where Dean's room was. With a groan she leaned against the wall and was in the process of finding Dean's name on her contacts list when the phone began to vibrate in her hand. Startled, she blinked in surprise.

Dean.

"Hey," she answered with a sniffle. "Where are you?"

"In my room," he replied softly. "You okay?"

"No." Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she turned and headed back down the hall as he told her his room number. Of course it was all the way on the other end. She held the phone to her ear as she walked, somehow comforted by the muffled sounds of Dean moving around. When she reached his room, the door was open and he was leaning in the doorway. She lowered the phone, sniffling again. "Hey."

"C'mere."

His arms were around her before she could finish stepping forward. Forgetting the way he'd distanced himself recently, she drew in a deep breath, not minding that she could smell cigarettes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, guiding her into the room and shutting the door.

"I… He… We…" Sophia pulled away long enough to toss her phone and key onto the dresser, then sat on the edge of the bed. Indignation rose when he casually flopped next to her and she blurted, "Where the fuck have you been?"

Dean reared back as if she'd slapped him. "What?"

"For weeks, you've been… You've ignored me. You brushed me off. Why?"

"I never brushed you off—"

"You couldn't get excited for me when I went to Disney. Some best friend you are. I had the best day of my entire life, and you—" Her anger broke on a sob. Pulling her knees up, she lowered her head, wishing she had the energy to scream.

"Soph," he sighed. His hand rested briefly on her shoulder, and with just a squeeze she knew she couldn't stay mad at him. She wasn't even mad at him, really. She knew him well enough to know that whatever reasons he had for backing away would be understandable.

"Can I stay with you?" she asked softly, once he'd drawn her close.

"Hmm?"

"Can I stay with you, please?"

"You should know by now that you don't have to ask." His lips bumped against her forehead. "C'mon, get into bed."

A tissue appeared in his hand and she took it, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose while getting to her feet. "I'm not disrupting plans, am I?" she asked as she unzipped her hoodie. Catching the clean t-shirt he tossed to her, she clutched the soft cotton briefly before shrugging the hoodie off and pulling on the shirt.

"My plans were sleep," he informed. "You need the bathroom?"

She shook her head, nose wrinkling when he left the door open. By the time he came out she was in the bed, gratefully breathing in the aroma of fresh sheets. He crawled in behind her and suddenly it was as it had always been. His chest was bare and cool, his lips damp when they met her shoulder. He switched off the lamp and tucked his arm around her waist.

"You'll tell me about it later?" he asked in the darkness.

He deserved to know. "I'll tell you," she promised.

"Come to Vegas with me." His arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. "I'll buy that shitty ice cream you love and we'll stay in and talk."

The thought of locking herself in an apartment, pigging out, and venting sounded utterly depressing. Like some bad romantic drama. But she nodded just the same. "Deal."

Grunting, he shifted and his lips brushed her cheek. "Get some rest, Soph."

Listening to his breathing as he settled back, she closed her eyes. His breaths were deep and even when she ventured, "Dean?"

"Hmm."

"Thank you."

"Mm-hmm."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

He had wanted to stay with her until she awoke. It had taken her ages to finally fall asleep, and he'd watched her for the longest time. Then he had found it impossible to get to sleep himself. He'd dozed, he'd drifted in and out. He'd finally given up on getting any rest and had sat up in bed watching her sleep again. Each little sigh, each tiny furrow that appeared on her brow, made him angrier and angrier, until, unable to stand it anymore, he'd gotten out of bed and yanked on clothes.

It was early, but the hallway showed a little activity. He greeted coworkers on their way to and from the gym, declining offers to grab breakfast. Sophia would need to eat. He'd order something up for them to share when he got back to the room. To his surprise, when he approached his destination he saw the door open. The man he didn't really want to see but needed to see stepped out, then stopped at the sight of him.

Guilt. Dean recognized it when it showed on his friend's face, and he clenched his jaw.

"Hey man," Roman greeted after a moment. "You're up early."

"What the fuck happened last night?" Dean asked.

Panic flashed in Roman's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"She came to me. Crying her heart out and… What did you do to her?"

"I—"

"And don't say you didn't do anything, because she's… She's fucking heartbroken. And yeah, I know, I've kept out of it. I figured that, fuck, two of my best friends have started something, so I'd step back and let it happen. Because I always screw shit up when I put my nose in. But I can't stand by and let you destroy her—" His sentence ended abruptly when Roman grabbed his arm and yanked him into the room. Shaking loose of the man's grip, he glared as the door snapped shut. "Fucking hell, Ro—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Roman asked.

"Sophia."

"She's heartbroken?" There was a touch of sadness in Roman's voice. But not enough to suggest that he felt as badly about whatever had happened as Sophia did.

"Yes!" Dean exploded.

"Fuck," Roman muttered.

"What did you do to her?" He deserved to know. Right?

"I didn't do anything. I didn't even see her last night after we got to the arena."

"Oh cut the bullshit," Dean snapped. "You've been seeing her on the sly for months now!"

"No." Roman sat on the edge of his unmade bed and began to shake his head. "I haven't, Dean."

"Then… But…" All the irritation and anger slipped away, immediately replaced by confusion. Slumping against the dresser, Dean dragged a hand over his face. "You haven't?"

"No. She's great, but she's…" Roman shrugged. "I always thought of her as yours. Untouchable, y'know?"

If only every other man in the world thought that, too. "Then who?"

"If she wants you to know, she'll tell you."

"Which means you know," Dean challenged.

"Dean—"

"Who is it, Ro? Who the fuck had her happier than I've ever seen her? And who the fuck yanked that happiness away?"

"Dean, I can't." Roman braced his elbows on his knees and held his hands to his face briefly. "It's complicated."

"Then make it simple for me." Restless, Dean started to pace. She hadn't been seeing Roman. It was a surprise, because he'd been so sure. He elected to ignore the relief that he now felt. He had wanted it to be Roman. He trusted Roman. Roman wouldn't have hurt her. When his friend remained silent, he heaved a sigh. "How complicated can it be? Is he married or something?"

He didn't miss the brief wince.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Who?"

"I can't tell you. She doesn't even know that I know, okay?" Roman sighed. "Dean, you know Sophie. She tells you everything. When she's ready to talk to you about it she will."

"How could she…" He tried to make sense of Sophia seeing a married man. It was impossible. And yet, the more he pondered it as he paced back and forth, the more it made sense. Her secrecy over the identity of who she was dating. Her reaction that time they had been Skyping and her lover – her married lover – had walked in. No wonder she hadn't wanted him to know. "Fuck."

Roman sighed again and got to his feet. When Dean neared him again, he caught him by the shoulders and forced him to stop. "Were you gonna beat the crap out of me for breaking her heart?"

"Not for breaking her heart. For…" Dean shrugged. "For making her sad."

"You know you have to let her fight her own battles sometimes, right? She's not that broken little girl you rescued a couple years ago."

"Yes, she is," Dean insisted. "She may not think she is, but she is."

"She's not. Man, you've done nothing but help her since you met her. It's time to let her stand on her own two feet."

"She's been on her own two feet for the past year." Now he was getting angry again. Shaking Roman's hand off his shoulder, he ran a hand through his hair. "And look what happened! She became a—"

"A woman," Roman finished.

Dean swallowed the word he had been about to say. Pressing his lips together, he gave a quick nod.

"You love her," Roman murmured after a moment.

Jerking his head up, he met Roman's gaze and managed another nod.

* * *

Somehow, she managed to appear normal during the SmackDown taping.

Somehow, she managed to smile and laugh with the other girls in the locker room.

Somehow, she managed to not let on that anything was wrong.

Somehow, she managed to give no indication that she was falling apart inside.

No one seemed the wiser.

Except Dean, who sent her worried looks whenever they passed in the hallways.

And Finn, who cornered her as she left Catering.

She had finished her match and had forced herself to eat something, even though the chicken tasted like sawdust and the vegetables seemed overcooked. She choked it down, though. Grateful that no one bothered her, she left the room as soon as she finished eating. She had barely passed through the doorway when a familiar voice called her name.

Looking to her left, she smiled at the sight of Finn heading towards her. He wasn't dressed for the ring and she supposed he had no planned segments that night. "Hey," she said softly when he approached.

"You haven't answered my texts," he accused. Stopping a couple steps away, he regarded her quietly for a moment, while she struggled to come up with an excuse. "What's wrong?"

Sophia blinked at the gently asked question. "Wrong?"

"You've been crying."

"Not since this morning—" She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a curse at the admission. "Can we not do this here?"

"Come on," he whispered. He lightly touched her shoulder to turn her in the direction he was headed, then drew his hand away as they walked.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he guided her through the backstage maze.

"…I don't have a clue," he muttered. Turning down another corridor, he stopped at the sudden dead end. "Here."

She nodded, rubbing her bare upper arms. It was the sort of place she and Paul would have found. For a few, private moments. For a few stolen kisses. For… Drawing in a breath, she leaned against the wall and looked at Finn. He said nothing, just looked at her with that patient, faintly worried expression that she knew so well by now. She'd gotten to know it well since their trip to Disney World, when he'd figured out her sordid secret. Thinking of that night, when she'd poured her heart out to him in the car, she sighed. He hadn't judged. He hadn't told her she was stupid. He'd merely listened quietly, and when she'd finished he'd handed over a tissue and told her that he wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. "It's over."

"What happened?"

"She… She figured it out. I think…" Sophia pressed her lips together. "I think she was tipped off because the girls were telling her about Disney… And maybe she suspected. I don't know. She confronted me, and… It's over."

"Have you seen him?"

Drawing in another deep breath, she wondered how much she should tell. If she should just say nothing. But, when she opened her mouth to lie, the truth spilled out. She told him everything that had happened the night before, skipping over the more intimate details, and didn't realize she was crying until he began to pat his pockets and finally pulled out a crumpled tissue.

"The best I have," he whispered as he smoothed it.

She took it when he held it out, using it to dab at her eyes. "Thank you."

"You're going to be fine, lass."

Sophia shook her head.

"You are," he insisted, taking the tissue and wiping away a tear she had missed.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're a strong woman. Don't," he muttered when she scoffed. "You're strong, Sophia. You've got friends that will help you over this bump in the road. And you'll be stronger for it."

"Did you walk out of some Irish self-help book?" she sniffled.

He laughed. "Not hardly."

"Thank you," she murmured after a moment. When she was certain she had finished crying.

"Are you going to be okay tomorrow?"

She nodded, taking the tissue to wipe her nose. "Yeah. I'm going to Vegas for the next couple of days." Even if she hadn't gotten the invitation from Dean, she would have gone somewhere other than Florida. She wasn't sure she could handle setting foot in her apartment yet. There were too many memories there. Too many reminders of what she'd had. "I'll be okay, Finn."

"If you need anything…" He let the offer linger in the air, smiling when she nodded again. "And don't forget your party's in two weeks."

"What?" she screeched. Wincing as the noise echoed back to her, she pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

"Your party? At Nattie's?"

"Fuck," she groaned. She had completely forgotten. "Could—"

"The invitations have gone out, she's got a room full of decorations and favors, and she's got a list of finger foods longer than my legs. There's no way in hell I'm telling her we have to cancel it."

"Fuck," she groaned again.

Finn laughed, giving her hand a squeeze. "It's going to be fine, lass."

"I know."

"And you're going to be fine."

That she wasn't so sure about. But just the same, she said, "I know."

* * *

"Here we are," Dean announced, dropping everything he carried just inside the door.

Sophia rolled her eyes and fumbled to pull the key from the lock, then stepped over the mountain of suitcases so she could enter the apartment. Closing the door, she heaved a sigh and leaned against it, kicking off her boots as she glanced around the living room. "You got a new couch?"

"Yeah." Dean was emptying his pockets onto the counter between the living room and kitchen. "One of the guys puked on the old one so he replaced it."

Wrinkling her nose, Sophia pushed her boots against the wall and shrugged out of her jacket. She crossed to the new couch, noticing that it was a couple shades darker than the old one. Falling onto it with a groan, she stretched out. "It's bigger."

"Not much." He leaned to untie his shoes. "You want to order in or go out?"

"In, please," she requested, sitting up.

"Chinese, Italian, Mexican, what?"

"Whatever you want." She smiled when he rolled his eyes. "I'm serious. You know what I like from those options."

"Yeah, I do," he remembered with a quick smile.

She watched him cross towards the couch, then he was flopping next to her. Instinctively she shifted closer, and a sigh passed her lips when his arm draped around her shoulders to hold her near. As always, he was warm and comfortable. Like a beloved old blanket. She pondered that similarity, a frown tugging at her lips as she wondered if she used him and discarded him like an old blanket. She did seek him out when she was in need of comfort. Reassurance. Anxious, she bit her bottom lip. "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Do…" She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. "Do I use you?"

"No, you don't." He kissed the top of her head. "What brought that to your mind?"

"I just… I was thinking how you're always comfortable. Like an old blanket, y'know? And then I worried that maybe I use you like one."

"You don't throw me in the closet every spring and forget me 'til winter comes around again." He rubbed her arm.

"I know, but I always run to you when I have a problem."

"No you don't. Not every little problem."

"The big ones," she insisted.

"Like sleeping with a married guy?" he asked. "Would that be a big one?"

Shocked, she reared back, shifting to face him. "How did you know?!"

"It's not that hard to put together, Soph." Despite the topic, his voice was normal. As though they always discussed her having an affair with a married man. "The secrecy, the dodging questions…"

"Shit."

"Who is he, Soph?" he asked softly, smoothing her hair back and lightly cupping her cheek.

"Why is that important?"

"He broke your heart."

"And you're going to go charging out to defend my honor? You're not my brother, Dean. He and I agreed it was for the best. It's gone on far too long, and—" She choked on the words, and felt the tears she'd kept at bay all night and morning start to well within her eyes. "Me telling you isn't going to change anything."

"You're right," he sighed. His hand fell away.

Looking at him, trying her best to keep the tears from falling, she felt her bottom lip quiver when he sighed with defeat. And, before she could stop herself, she found she was whispering, "Paul."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"What did you say?"

Sophia knew this was her opportunity to lie. To just mutter something inconsequential and divert the conversation to another topic. But she inhaled deeply and exhaled as slow as possible. Looking down at her lap, she spied a faint stain on her jeans and stupidly wondered where it had come from. Then, hearing Dean's sigh, she moistened her lips and said Paul's name again. This time she said it loudly, clearly, so there could be no misunderstanding.

Utter silence. She could faintly hear a siren in the distance, and as it grew closer she finally looked to Dean again. He was staring straight ahead. Had she not known him as well as she did she might have thought he hadn't heard. She could see the occasional flare of his nostril, though. And she could feel him growing tense with each passing second. Lowering her gaze, she saw his hands were clasped, and stared at his white knuckles.

"Dean—"

"Him?" he suddenly burst, launching from the couch as though it had punched him away. "You've been fucking Paul?!"

She flinched at the words, at the tone, at the anger that emanated from him. When he looked at her she nodded, and closed her eyes when he released a string of curses.

"Why? For fuck's sake, Soph… The boss's daughter's husband? Fucking really?"

"I didn't…" She shook her head. She'd said that she hadn't meant for it to happen once already. And she feared that Dean's response would be the same as Stephanie's. Coming from him, it would be a million times worse. "It's over with now," she pointed out, ignoring the sharp pang in her chest as she said the words.

"Why him? God, there are at least two dozen guys that would give their left arm just for you to look at them—"

"Because I didn't want those two dozen guys," she snapped. "I didn't even know I wanted him until it was too late. It's not like I woke up one morning and decided to make the worst possible decision—"

"Then you do admit it was the worst decision?" he challenged.

"No," she answered, surprising herself with her own vehemence. "He's given me so much in the past year. More than I could ever have imagined anyone giving me. Yes, I've hated the fact that I've had to keep it secret. And yes, I've hated being the other woman. But I don't regret it. I don't wish it had never happened. He made me happy. Happier than I've ever been."

He was pacing, had been since he'd leaped off the couch. As she finished her statement, though, he stopped. His back was too her, and she saw his shoulders slump. Realizing that her words had hurt him, though she couldn't imagine why, she felt the pinprick of tears and scrambled to her feet. Stepping towards him, she tentatively placed her hand on the center of his back.

"Please don't be mad at me," she whispered. "It's killed me, not being able to tell you. But no one could find out—"

"Roman knows."

"Of fucking course he does," Sophia muttered. Stephanie had probably told him. Hypocritical bitch, she thought. "Did he say—"

"He wouldn't tell me, so I doubt he'll tell anyone else."

"Dean," she sighed after a moment. "Please look at me."

"I hate this." He spun around. His arms were around her, dragging her close, in an instant. "Do you have any idea what could happen if Steph finds out?"

"She knows…" Pressing her face to his chest, she inhaled the scent of soap and cologne and cigarettes that was so uniquely Dean. "And I know what can happen. Paul said she'll make sure I don't win the title if she thinks we see each other again."

"Fuck." He sighed, the force of it ruffling her hair. "This is bad, Soph."

"We're through. I can't… She's the type that would ruin his life. He adores those little girls, and she would make sure he never saw them again. He'd have nothing—"

"Who gives a fuck about him?! Jesus Christ, Soph, she'd ruin you!" He caught her shoulders and pushed her back so he could look into her eyes. "How can you stand there worrying about what she'd do to him when she could make your life a living hell?"

"I love him," she answered softly.

Dean began to scoff. He attempted to roll his eyes. But as the silence stretched between them, she saw his eyes soften. Saw the anger slip away. "Oh, Soph," he whispered, tugging her back to him.

* * *

"You really love him?" Dean asked.

He'd asked the question at least a hundred times since his explosion earlier. Okay, realistically it had probably been only about three times. Maybe four. Each time, he received the answer. So he wasn't sure why he kept asking. He supposed he hoped she would sigh and look away and tell him something different.

This time was the same as the others, though. Mouth full of ice cream, she nodded. Once she had swallowed and wiped her mouth with a paper towel, she looked over at him and nodded again. "Yes. I do."

It didn't hurt quite as much this time around. Maybe he was just numb. Or maybe it was getting into his thick head that… Pushing those thoughts away, he turned his attention to the spaghetti sauce he was stirring. She'd suggested spaghetti for supper. They'd ventured out for supplies that afternoon, and the freezer was now filled with the store brand vanilla ice cream she loved. The counter was a mess of vegetable and herb remains.

Just as his bedroom was a mess of her clothes. She'd emptied her suitcase on the bed, dug through the pile, then pilfered one of his shirts to wear. She was wearing it now, perched on the island counter, legs swinging as she ate her ice cream from the carton.

"Soph," he began, moving to gather the mess and throw it away. He wasn't sure what to say to her. He would never tell her she was being stupid, even if she was. And he'd already seen her heartbreak when he'd chastised her for worrying about Paul instead of herself. Grabbing a sponge to wipe the counter clean, he finally turned to look at Sophia.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked before he could think of what he wanted to say.

Surprised by the question, he kept his face impassive. "Yeah," he answered after a moment. God, if she asked who… But she wouldn't. He hoped.

"Then you understand."

"Well, yeah," he admitted, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "But I also understand that it's useless to keep loving someone you can never have."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Oh."

Fuck. Heart twisting, he wiped the counter harder than necessary.

"Who was she?" she whispered.

"Who?" He could fake stupidity.

"The one that broke your heart."

He laughed, but there was no mirth. "Does it count if she didn't know she broke it?"

"Of course it counts." She slipped off the counter and reached around him for the lid of the ice cream. Her spoon clattered in the sink.

"She's someone special." The words surprised even him, and he kept wiping the counter, listening to her put the ice cream away. "She never knew that I… I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe if I'd had the balls to tell her. I don't know."

Not liking the exploration into his feelings, or the dangerous territory he was stepping into, he threw the sponge into the sink.

"She must be pretty awesome." Sophia picked up the spoon and began stirring the sauce. "Isn't it funny? We've known each other for so long, but we've never talked about this stuff."

"Yeah. Funny."

"I suppose it's not funny. Weird, really. Why don't we ever talk about it?"

"I don't know." But he did. He couldn't let himself talk about it with her. It would bring up all the things he longed to say. And at this point, he doubted he had the strength to hold them back.

"But we know everything about each other. Except that sort of stuff. You're my best friend in the entire world, but I don't know anything about that side of your life."

"Do you want to know?" His voice sounded hoarse. Clearing his throat, he opened the fridge and reached for a bottle of water. He would have reached for a beer, but there were none. Taking a sip, he watched her stir the sauce.

"You know about my failed relationship," she sighed, tapping the spoon on the side of the pot and setting it aside.

"I don't have any. Relationships," he added. Clutching the bottle of water, he leaned against the refrigerator door. "I haven't in years."

She looked surprised. "But—"

"I fuck randoms, remember? It's a shitload easier doing that than trying to start something serious with a woman."

"Why is it easier?"

"Because… Fuck," he groaned. He wanted out of the conversation so bad he would have welcomed any distraction. But there were none. The phones were silent. No one began banging on the door. The sauce didn't boil over. Dragging his free hand over his face, he sighed.

"Because of her," she murmured.

Relieved, he nodded.

"Oh, Dean."

Suddenly she was approaching him, tucking her body close to his, seemingly unaware that she was the mysterious 'her'. Slinging his arm around her, he held her close, wishing it was all different. Wishing she wasn't tied up in a married man. Wishing that he had the balls to tell her the truth. Wishing he could admit that he'd fallen in love with her so long ago that he couldn't even remember the precise moment.

Maybe that first Christmas, when she'd so sweetly given him hats and scarves to keep him warm. Or maybe that Valentine's day when she'd served him soup and bread and they'd cuddled on her couch for hours. Or her first day at the Performance Center, when she had called him crying because Dusty Rhodes had pulled her aside for a private chat.

He couldn't remember when. He just knew that one day, as he'd pulled her in for a hug, he had realized he loved her and never wanted to let her go.

Should he have told her then? Or had she already entangled herself with Paul?

* * *

It was late when they headed to bed. Sophia groaned at the sight of her clothes littering the bed and floor. "I'll clean it up tomorrow," she promised as she began shoving the clothes off the bed. Weary from a day of eating too much, talking too much, and hours spent on the couch watching a mindless action movie, she the crawled into the center of the bed and pushed her face into the pillows.

Dean joined her after a moment, pushing and nudging her until he could pull back the covers. Chuckling when she groaned, he pressed a kiss to the back of her head and leaned to turn off the lamp. "Good night, Soph."

"Night."

She dreamed of Paul. Or perhaps her mind just replayed happier memories. She awoke to the sound of Dean's gentle snores and had to remind herself that Paul would never again be the one holding her in the middle of the night. Sighing sadly, she turned to face Dean just as his snores stopped.

"What?" he mumbled.

"I'm fine." Shifting, she reached to adjust the covers and sighed again. "Go back to sleep."

"You're bouncing around like a jumping bean. You're not fine."

"I woke up missing him," she whispered.

The arm around her stiffened, and his sigh filled the air. "What would he do if you woke up in the middle of the night?"

Surprised by the question, she blinked in the darkness. "He…" Oh, how she already missed waking up in the middle of the night with Paul. Thinking of his gentle kisses, his reassuring murmurs, she bit down hard on her bottom lip. "He would kiss me…"

She expected Dean to sigh again, but he didn't. She felt him shift, realized he was pushing up onto his elbow. Then she felt him leaning closer.

And, unexpectedly, he covered her lips with his.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Short chapter is short. Thanks to everyone for the amazing reviews. :)**

Chapter Seventeen

God, her lips were so soft. He'd known this already. Her lips had touched his cheeks many times over the years he had known her. And his shoulders. Even his chest, when she cuddled up close to him and bumped a kiss against his skin. But their mouths had never met, except for in his dreams, and all he could do was revel in the softness.

He forced himself to remain gentle, fearing with each passing second that she would push him away. Ask him what the hell he was doing. He heard and felt her sharp intake of breath, felt her tense, and knew when her hands moved to his chest that she would break away. Instead, her fingers flexed. Her body relaxed, she gave a tiny sigh.

Dean almost cried out in relief when her lips moved over his. Irritation flared when he thought that maybe she was only kissing him because she missed Paul. But she whispered his name, barely audible as her breath escaped her mouth, and he kissed her again, letting his months and years of longing push him closer to her. Until he was lying over her and her legs were tangling with his and her arms were wrapped around him.

"Dean," she whispered again, and he could hear his blood rushing in his ears.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, threading his fingers in her wild hair. He gently guided her head back, allowed himself to taste the side of her neck. She gasped and he did it again, then forced himself up. He couldn't see her face in the darkness. "Tell me to stop, Soph, and I will."

Her fingers bumped into his chin, danced over his lips, trailed over his cheek. "Do you remember that time we were driving and it was pouring down raining?"

"Uh…" Surprised by the sudden question, he cleared his throat. "Not really."

"We were on our way to the NXT show Tallahassee. And it was raining buckets. You were driving and cussing because you had to go slower than normal… Anyway, we could barely see. And I remember I could barely hear myself think because the rain was so loud. Then every time we went under an overpass or a bridge there were a few seconds of utter peace. And I could see and think and breathe before we were back in the downpour again."

"I know." He couldn't recall the drive she was talking about, but he knew exactly what she meant by driving in a downpour. "What about it?"

"You're my bridge, Dean."

"Soph…"

"You are. Ever since I've met you, you're the one that I can hide under so I can breathe and think and see…" She sat up, breath fanning his throat. Her kiss was brief and tentative. As though she feared he would push her away.

As though he would ever push her away.

"Can you see and think and breathe now?" he asked softly, following as she laid back down.

"See, yes. Think, kind of… Breathe, a little…"

Their lips met again. And this time, he could taste her. He enjoyed the faint sweetness of her strawberry-flavored lip gloss, the bite of mint from her mouthwash. She tasted fresh and clean and… Pure.

"How am I supposed to breathe if you keep kissing me like that?" she groaned as he pressed his face to her neck.

He chuckled, but the levity soon faded. Pressed so close to her, he could feel everything. The rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Her hardened nipples. Her legs shifted, tucked over his, and he inhaled sharply when their bodies aligned. So close he could feel the heat of her. He lifted his head for another kiss, sighing when she turned her head at the last minute. Sensing rejection, he began to draw away.

"Dean," she murmured, holding onto him. There was a jumble of limbs as they shifted around. Her elbow connected with his chest. His knee slammed into her hip. But she was moving with him, and he tucked his arms around her as she leaned to switch on the lamp. He blinked in the sudden light.

"I don't want this – Wait, fuck, I **do** want this," he amended quickly when she sat up. Biting the tip of his tongue as she settled over him, he mentally cursed the thinness of his shorts. "I really want this, Soph… I just…"

"What?" Sophia asked when he sighed.

She was going to make him fucking say it. Grunting, he pulled his arms free and caught her by the hips. He lifted her off him, ignoring his body's longing, and sat up. Once she was no longer touching him, it was easier to think. Even if all he could think was how easy it would be to just go for it. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he looked at her and sighed. "Not like this," he finally answered. He groaned. How could he put it into words? He, who was supposed to have been one of the best talkers in the company, was finding himself tongue-tied. Meeting her eyes, he felt his shoulders round forward in defeat. "I can't do this now. With you missing him and everything. Because… You'd regret it. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but you would and that would kill me. And… I'd feel like I was using you. Like I was taking advantage of you when you were low, and—"

"Dean, you could never take advantage of me."

"Yeah… But, Soph… You love him. I know you love him. And knowing that…" His eyes were burning. Why the fuck were his eyes burning? "Even though I know I could lose myself in you for the rest of my life, I'd worry that you were thinking of him. And—"

"And you deserve better than that," she finished with a small smile.

"No," he said after a moment. Frowning, he shook his head. "I probably don't. But I want better. I want to know that the woman I'm with is only thinking about me."

She lowered her head. Her hair fell forward, forming a tousled curtain around her face. "I understand," she said, hair ruffling with her statement. She pushed it back and held it to her neck with one hand. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I am, too," he whispered.

* * *

"Daddy?"

Surprised by the tentative voice, Paul looked away from the glass of whiskey in front of him. He hadn't sipped from it yet. Despite pouring it three hours before. He blinked when he saw Aurora hesitating in the doorway. "What are you doing up?"

"I had to pee." She crossed to the dining table, her slippers whispering against the floor. "Why are you still up?"

"Can't sleep," he answered with a sigh. Leaning back in his seat, he watched her settle in the chair next to him. "You need to go back to bed, Princess."

"In a minute. Why can't you sleep?"

"I have a lot on my mind." A lie. He had had very few things on his mind over the past couple of days.

"Did we get Sophia in trouble?"

Trust Aurora to bring one of the things that had been on his mind right out into the open. "What do you mean?"

"We were telling Mom about seeing her at Disney. And you know how Vaughn goes on and on and on and on…" Aurora tucked her knees to her chest and hugged them. "Mom was getting mad. Then she said she had to go see Sophia about something. And then we heard that Sophia was leaving Raw. Did we get her in trouble?"

"No, baby, you didn't get her in trouble," Paul assured.

"Mom doesn't like her."

"I know," he sighed.

"Do you like her?"

He pressed his lips together, certain he heard something behind the casual inquiry of his eldest daughter. Looking to her, he watched one of her brows lift. As though daring him to try to bullshit an answer. But bullshit an answer he would do. "Of course I do. She's a hard worker, she's dedicated to the business, and she's talented. And the fans love her."

His daughter nodded. "Do you wish she was your daughter?"

Paul chuckled and began to shake his head. "Not at all. I've got three perfect daughters already."

Smiling now, Aurora slid out of the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight squeeze. "Good night, Daddy."

"Hold on, I'll go up with you." He returned the hug then got to his feet. Picking up the glass, he regarded the contents briefly before setting it back down.

He went upstairs with Aurora, made sure she was securely tucked in, then made his way to the guest room. His room now, he supposed. It had been, off and on, for over a year, but when he'd returned home after the TV tapings, he had found the bulk of his clothes had been moved into the closet. His toiletries had been placed on the dresser. Even his pillows had been thrown onto the bed. With a sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket and, crossing to the window, brought up the last message he had received from Sophia.

Two words, sent Tuesday morning. _Thank you._

He'd heard nothing else from her since. No messages. No phone calls. He'd passed her in the hallway during the Smackdown taping. She had been with Bálor and Natalya, though, and had barely murmured a quick hello before continuing on her way. He supposed he should be happy…or content, at least, that she wasn't making scenes. But he hadn't expected it to hurt so damn much. Over the past year his first instinct when he had good or bad news was to contact her. Who was he supposed to contact now?

He toyed with the idea of messaging her. Just to see how she was. Was she at home? Or had she gone to stay with a friend over her days off? Would she acknowledge a message from him? Would it be best to not message her at all?

Sighing again, he locked the phone and pressed his forehead to the cold glass of the window.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Her phone had been rather quiet since she'd arrived in Vegas. At first Sophia was grateful because it gave her the much-needed chance to disconnect and think. But after the events of the night before, the last thing she wanted was to think. About anything. She awoke from a fitful sleep, slipped out of bed, careful to not wake Dean, and took her phone to the living room.

There were no messages. No missed calls. No emails. She sighed as she checked the apps again, just in case she had missed something. Nothing. The device continued to mock her with its silence

Hating her mind for calculating the time distance, she muttered a curse when she saw that her fingers had opened the messaging app and brought up Paul's name.

He would be up. Knowing him as she did, she had a feeling he was on his second cup of coffee. Headed out of the door to get to his office at the Performance Center. He liked getting there early so he could get paperwork out of the way.

She slowly tapped at the screen, watching the words form, then deleted them. She did it again, finger poised over the send button, but lost her nerve and cancelled the message. What if Stephanie read it? Worse, what if he ignored the message? About to close the app, she felt the breath leave her lungs when she saw the animation that he was sending her a message. It disappeared, then came back, several times, and when the message appeared fully on her skin she felt her throat tighten.

 _Vince wants to meet with you Monday at three. It's about the Rumble plans, and the upcoming NXT European tour. We'll meet in my backstage office._

She stared at the words, feeling stupid for trying to read between the lines. There was nothing between the lines to be read. The words were businesslike. Just like any message he would send to any other member of the roster. Fingers hovering over the screen, she bit down on her bottom lip when another message appeared.

 _I need to see you before the meeting._

Warning sirens began in the back of her mind. But desperation made her ignore them and she sent a reply before she could stop herself.

 _What about?_

* * *

"Okay, I think everything is set," Nattie announced, spreading out the lists she had prepared. "Decorations are already at my place, Cesaro's getting the music playlist together, the cake has been ordered, and everyone RSVP'd. They're all coming, by the way."

"Really?" Sophia couldn't help but smile. "That's great."

"And the three of us are meeting at my place the day before to get the food ready." Nattie indicated herself, Sophia, and Finn.

"No ponies, right?"

"I promise, it's going to be tasteful. Food, music, and your friends. You'll have an amazing time," Nattie promised. "Are you coming solo or with someone else?"

Sophia immediately thought of arriving to her own birthday party – six months earlier than it should have been – on Paul's arm. Just as immediately, she cast the thought away. "I'll probably show up alone."

"Really? Dean isn't bringing you?"

Nattie looked so shocked that Sophia wondered if she had missed something. "I doubt it… I mean maybe? I don't know."

"You two have always been joined at the hip. I just assumed…" Nattie shrugged and pushed one list each towards Sophia and Finn. "Since you insisted on helping get the food, these are the things we'll need."

Sophia glanced briefly at her list, written in Nattie's swirly handwriting, and folded it. She and Dean had been joined at the hip? Always? Nodding when Finn excused himself, she looked at the time and pushed back her chair. "I have a meeting with Vince, so I better go, too. Thanks again, Nattie. Really."

"It's nothing. See you later," Nattie called, head bent as she started yet another list.

She hurried out of Catering. Paul hadn't said what he wanted to see her about before her meeting with Vince, only that he would look for her at two thirty. She had wanted to take time to mentally and physically prepare herself for the meeting. To be able to walk in calm, cool, and collected. But Nattie had drawn her into party preparations. And now she was going to his office with her nerves in a jumble and still wearing the clothes she'd worn to the arena.

His door was closed. She knocked once then entered, halting in surprise when she saw him behind his desk. "Paul."

He was on his feet in an instant. Immaculate in his suit as always. His beard was a little fuller. Still as handsome as sin. Still able to make her breath catch and her heart skip a beat. But she noticed a new line of worry in his forehead. He looked tired. And his eyes… They looked sad even as they brightened when he looked at her. His lips quirked into a brief smile.

"Sophie."

Her heart thudded in her chest. She realized she had this to look forward to for the rest of her time with the company. The longing. The ache. The inability to think of anything coherent to say. Wrong, wrong, wrong, her mind screamed. She should have said no to this meeting. Should have asked Finn or Nattie to come with her. Still clutching the doorknob, she thought of escaping.

He smoothed his tie. Adjusted his cuffs. He let his hands fall to his sides, then folded them in front of him. "Come in."

She did so, instinctively closing the door behind her. Moving to one of the chairs, her steps faltered when he rounded the desk. "Hi," she said softly.

"Sophie—" Paul's gaze met hers for several long seconds, and she heard his breath pass his lips in a sigh. "You look…"

Pressing her lips together, she watched him do the same. "…So do you."

She counted her heartbeats while they stared at each other. Fifteen. Twenty. At thirty, he stepped closer. At forty, he raised his hand and lightly caressed her cheek. At fifty, she did the same to him. At sixty, his lips met hers.

Sophia whined at the first touch. Delight exploded. She reached for him, gripped the lapels of his suit. She wanted to drink him in. Barely a week had passed since being able to touch and taste him and she was parched. But just as she began to sink into the kiss she remembered all that had happened.

"Sophie."

She put as much space as possible between them. Her lips burned with the taste of him. Her arms ached to be wrapped around him. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch. Shaking her head, she struggled to hold back the tears. "No," she managed. "I can't."

"Can't? Sophie—"

"Don't."

His sigh filled the room, but he stayed where he was.

"I can't—I won't do this," she amended. Squaring her shoulders, she steadied her breath and looked to him. "What did you need to see me about?"

"This."

She watched him nudge a small robin's-egg-blue box to the edge of the desk. Staring at it, at the silver-white ribbon tie into a neat bow on top, she felt her heart plummet to her feet. "Paul," she whispered.

"I want you to have it, Sophie. It was chosen for you. No one else."

Slowly, she crossed to the desk and picked up the box. Trembling fingers untied the bow and pulled off the lid. She took in the elegant, diamond infinity symbol attached to a fine platinum chain. Fingers tracing the symbol, she felt the tears well in her eyes.

 _"It's an infinity symbol," she said with a laugh, watching his finger create the emblem on her chest. His nail lightly scraped her flesh. She saw the mark appear, then fade. And she knew she would forever think of him when she saw the symbol. She wished it could be permanent and told him so._

"It's as permanent as I could go," he said, dragging her from her memories.

"How could you," she whispered, both loving and hating him at the same time.

"I bought it before… Before last week." He looked chastened. "Back when we were going to celebrate."

"But now there's nothing to celebrate. Just…" She gazed at the pendant. "Memories."

"I'll always celebrate us, even if it's just in my mind."

This time she didn't blink the tears away. This time she was the one that closed the space between them. This time she initiated the kiss. This time she didn't pull away.

"Why," he groaned between kisses, alternately clutching her to him and caressing her. "Why can't I stay away from you for one fucking week?"

"I don't know," she breathed, reveling in his touch, his taste. "But I'm glad you can't." She pressed her lips to his temple, then to the open neck of his shirt. She wanted more. She needed more. "God," she groaned, attempting to extricate herself from his embrace. It was either that or risk Vince walking in on them. "We have to stop."

"I know." His lips found hers for one final, lingering kiss.

"If Stephanie—"

"She won't." His mouth was still over hers as he spoke, and he moved them to her cheek. "I swear, she won't."

* * *

Dean had known something was up when Sophia became, suddenly, perky. It happened before they started getting ready to leave his place. He'd woke up to her cooking breakfast. And freshly squeezed orange juice. Then she had insisted on folding his laundry and helping him pack. Then she'd gone over his apartment with a vacuum, and he would swear to his dying day that she had sung the entire time.

Their flight had been uneventful, and not long enough for him to put out feelers as to why she was so happy all of a sudden. When they reached the arena he'd been cornered by Nattie, who'd demanded to know whether or not he was going to the party she was giving Sophia. After that he'd only seen Sophia a handful of times. On her way to Catering. Then heading in the direction of the offices, looking vaguely ill. Then on her way to the locker room, smiling and practically skipping.

With, to his horror, a necklace glinting at her throat.

So he found himself pacing just outside of Paul's office for the day. With less than an hour to go before showtime, he had a thousand other thing to do. But he needed to see the man.

The door open and some harried-looking assistant stepped out. Dean caught the door before it could close, stepping into the room and clearing his throat.

Paul looked up from the papers spread in front of him. Travel itineraries, Dean saw, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What is it, Ambrose?"

"It's about Sophia."

"What about her?"

Dean cursed the man for being good at withholding emotions. There wasn't so much as a glimmer of softness. "You need to leave her be."

The older man laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about a fucking year of…" Dean grunted. "I'm talking about her being heartbroken."

"Is she heartbroken?" Paul's voice reflected concern.

Thinking about the way she'd been smiling, he muttered a curse. "Not right now."

"I thought not. Why are you so worried about her?"

"Because—" He faltered, all the words he'd wanted to say seeming flat and useless now. "She doesn't deserve this."

"What?"

" _This_ ," he stressed, throwing his hands out to indicate the office, the arena, and the world as a whole. "Being some plaything, some convenient whore—"

Paul rose to his feet so abruptly his chair crashed into the wall. "I won't have you talking that way about her. It's none of your business, anyway."

"She's my best friend—"

"Leave it alone, Ambrose." Paul's voice was commanding. "She doesn't need a champion right now."

"So what, just because you've spent some private time with her, all of a sudden you're a fucking expert on what she needs and wants?"

"I get it, okay? I get that you and Sophie have a close relationship. But it's just friendship. What she and I have goes beyond that. We make each other happy. No one's getting hurt so just stay out of it. Don't be the one who hurts her more."

"What do you even know about her?" Dean asked.

"I know she worked hard to get where she is. I know she gave up more than you or I ever did to get here. I know how damn good she is in that ring. I know she hates the sight of green peas. I know she loves to sing but can't carry a tune. I know she can whip up a delicious meal from nothing. I know she loves to be held. I know she loves to sleep late and stay up all night."

"But… Do you know she curls into a ball under her covers when she has a nightmare? That when she does she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out? Do you know she hates being in a completely dark room all alone? Hell, do you know she hates being in a totally dark room, period? Do you know she's scared to death of storms? Do you know that she flinches when she hears angry voices near her? Do you even know why? Or have you ever bothered to ask her anything about her life?"

"She's getting past all that now. I'm thankful you protected and took care of her for so long. But she's in good hands."

Dean, agitated, clenched and unclenched his fists. He knew that hitting his boss would land him on his ass. Sophia wouldn't look too kindly on it, either. Realizing the futility of the conversation, he finally shook his head and turned to leave.

"Oh, Ambrose… I do know one or two little things about her that you don't."

Dean turned and sneered, "Yeah? What's that?"

Paul smirked. "The blissful, beautiful face she makes when she comes. And the sweet, soft sounds she creates when my hand is between her thighs."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Sophia wasn't surprised to find Dean waiting just outside the women's locker room after her match. She supposed he was doing the overprotective big brother thing again, and tilted her head to one side. "It's just a scratch, I didn't need stitches," she promised, pulling her hair back so he could see the red mark along the side of her neck. "Nikki's already apologized a thousand times. No big deal."

She zipped up her hooded sweatshirt and, knowing she had to go meet with members of the production team that were working on the video package of her and Nikki's rivalry, took a step in that direction. It was then she realized that Dean wasn't looking at her neck. Instead, he was staring at her throat. She reached up with one hand and felt the solidity of the infinity symbol. Looking at him, she drew in a breath. "Dean—"

"Fucking really?" he sighed. He began to shake his head, until his damp hair concealed his eyes. He pushed the locks back impatiently. "I thought it was over."

"It was," she murmured. "But…"

"But what? Did he throw jewelry at you and make promises he can't fucking keep? I saw how happy you looked after your meeting." He sneered, shaking his head again. "All it took was for him to snap his fingers and you're back in his lap like some well-trained dog?"

"He didn't throw anything at me," Sophia defended. "And do you mind keeping it down? Because—"

He cut her off with a snort, then grabbed her arm and pulled her along to the next corridor. Once away from the noise of backstage, he dropped her arm and resumed glaring at her.

"What the hell is your problem?" she asked, staring at him in confusion.

"You're fucking him again," Dean seethed.

Sophia flinched at his tone. "It's none of your business."

"The hell it's not. Do you know what will happen if anyone else finds out?"

"We'll find out if you keep screaming at me," she snapped. "Jesus Christ, Dean, stop. You're putting your nose in where it doesn't belong. You're not my father. You're not my brother. And even if you were… I'm an adult, okay? I can make my own choices."

"So I'm just supposed to stand aside and let you fuck up everything you've worked so hard for?" he called when she began to walk away.

"Drop it, Dean."

But he persisted, his heavy footfalls seeming to echo behind her, until they were near the main hallway again. "I'm just supposed to pretend I'm happy that you're fucking around with him? I thought after the past week you were stronger than this. But no, you're at his beck and call again. Just like a wh—"

She whirled around, enraged by the word that he didn't finish. She saw the hint of regret in his eyes before it was replaced by a steely hardness. The malicious words and hateful tone were like a punch to the gut. "Is that what you think I am?" she asked in a strangled whisper. A _whore_?"

"Soph, I—"

"Fuck you," she spat, hating the tears that started to burn her eyes.

"I just—" He threw up his hands and took a step back. "He's in his office bragging about how you're in good hands and how you don't' need me to be your champion."

"He's right. I am. And I don't."

"But, Soph… Don't you want more than this? He'll never be completely yours."

"That doesn't matter," she admitted softly, brushing her tears away before they could fall. "I just want him. However I can get him."

"Even if it makes you a whore?"

With a strangled cry, she swung out. Her palm connected to his cheek with alarming voice. The resulting sound echoed in the corridor as Dean stumbled back in surprise. Shaking her stinging hand, she became aware that all the activity just a few feet away had ground to a halt. "Leave me alone," she told Dean, who was holding his cheek. "Just… Leave me alone, Dean."

"Soph—" he began, taking a step toward her.

"I said leave me alone," she ground out.

"What the fuck's going on?" a familiar voice questioned behind her.

Sophia turned, surprise at seeing Seth Rollins overtaking her anger. "Seth," she blurted. Then, hearing Dean sigh behind her, she felt her lips settle into a grim line. "Nothing's wrong."

Seth's gaze flickered from her to Dean and back again. "You sure? 'Cause I think you just dislocated his jaw…"

"He'll live." The bitterness in her voice must have surprised Seth, because his eyes widened. Aware of others in the hallway pretending not to look at her, she folded her arms over her chest. "I've got to run. But we'll talk later, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course." He caught her in a quick hug before letting her go.

As she rushed away, she heard his voice echo behind her.

"What the fuck did you do, man?!"

* * *

"I missed you," Sophia whispered between fervent kisses. He'd barely entered her room before she'd wound her arms and legs around him. She hadn't jumped on him, merely wrapped around him and slithered up until they were face to face.

Not that Paul minded. He'd missed her, too. He told her so as he carried her to the bed, chuckling when she locked her legs around his waist. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised, guiding her down. "I'll be here all night, sweetie."

"Just hold me," she requested, layering his cheek with kisses. Her fingers were silk gliding over his scalp. "We can make love later, right now I just need to be held."

He nodded, lips finding hers for a slow kiss. Somehow he managed to shrug off his jacket and keep one arm around her. She needed to be held. He needed to hold her. He'd missed her smile, her laugh, her voice, even her horrible singing. He'd longed to wake up cold because she'd stolen all the covers. He'd hated his brain for the dreams he had of her, so tangible he could smell her when he woke up, his heart aching like a rotting tooth. The untreatable aches inside him eased now that she was in his arms.

Once they were settled in the bed, the covers pulled over them, she released a ragged sigh that mirrored the delight he felt. His heart twisted and he knew there were a million things that needed to be said. Words that had to be spoken. But he remained silent, content just to hold her. Just to feel her breath on his neck and the gentle weight of her lying atop him. To feel her fingers trace circles on his shoulders. To breathe in the aroma of her. Shampoo and soap and strawberries.

"Paul?" Sophia murmured, lightly stroking his beard with her thumb.

"Hmm?"

"I love you." Her thumb caressed his bottom lip while she sat up slightly. "No matter what happens, I love you."

"Nothing's going to happen." At least, not yet. He was sure of it. He would protect her as long as humanly possible.

"Dean knows." She sighed, face troubled. "I went to Vegas since I couldn't stand the idea of going home last week, and while I was there I told him. Because I thought… I thought we were over."

There was a pain in her voice when she spoke the last words that caused him to draw her closer. As though he could shield her from the hurt inside her, he shifted her onto her back and settled next to her. "I know," he murmured, fingers finding an errant curl and winding in it. "He came to see me today."

"What?" she squeaked, eyes widening. "But he – Oh god, I hate him."

"I heard you slapped ten years off his life. Want to tell me why?"

She hesitated, teeth toying with her bottom lip, and he saw the question flickering in her eyes.

"Seth mentioned it."

"Of course he did," Sophia grumbled. "He was just being a dickhead."

"But—"

"Can we not talk about him tonight?" she requested.

"Sophie," he began. Gently, so as not to cause her irritation to be transferred to him. "It's best to talk about things when they happen instead of pushing them off."

"I know."

She looked beyond him, to the ceiling, and he could sense the torrent of emotions running through her. Thinking of all the things that they had agreed to not talk about immediately, he brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and pressed a gentle kiss there. He felt her relax, felt her snuggle closer.

"He's acting like he's my protective older brother," she said after a moment. "I found out from Finn a little while ago that – You remember Disney, right? Of course you do. Anyway, he was saying that Dean pulled him aside at a house show and gave him the third degree. He all but asked Finn what his intentions were. Can you believe that?"

"Yeah, I can," Paul admitted, thinking of the jealous rage that had emanated from Ambrose earlier.

"I understand it. A little, at least," she amended. "If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here."

"How do you mean?"

She hesitated, and he would have thought he imagined the way she tensed if she hadn't shifted back so he could see the trepidation in her eyes. "He… You know the storm stuff?"

Of course he knew. "Is he the reason you're—"

"No!" Her eyes widened at the thought. "He… Well, he kept something from happening to me. No, he didn't keep it from happening. He stopped it. It had already started when he showed up. And…"

Her voice trailed into a faint sigh. Paul knew she was suddenly miles away from him. To wherever she had been during the storm that wrecked her soul. "Sophie?"

"I need to get up," she whispered.

He released her, moved back so she could rise unhindered, watched with growing worry as she moved to the far edge of the bed. He remembered that night, when she had been almost catatonic, when he had feared she would shatter if he touched her. And the next day, when she had brushed off his fears and questions with three words that only worried him more.

 _You wouldn't understand._

"Sophie," he said softly. She had her back to him, her head dipped forward. Rising, he rounded the bed and knelt in front of her. "Hey," he murmured, carefully tucking her unruly hair behind her ears. "Talk to me, sweetie."

""I love you, Paul." One hand left her lap and her finger lightly rested over his lips before he could speak. "You don't have to say it back. I can tell just by the way you're looking at me."

"How am I looking at you?" he asked once her finger slid away.

"Like…" She gestured in the air. A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Like if you could, you would snap your fingers and make what happened disappear so I wouldn't be a nutcase."

"You're not a nutcase. You're just holding back something that's eating away inside you."

"I just don't want you to look at me differently after I've told you."

"Sweetie, nothing you tell me could stop me from loving you."

"Nothing?" she echoed.

"Nothing. Because I love you."

He half expected her to make a joke. To spout off a quip as though to test his limits. She only smiled, though, however sadly, and leaned down for a kiss. "I told you that you don't have to say it back."

"I know I don't have to," he murmured. "But I need to."

She sighed the sigh of a thousand weary souls. "Okay. You better get comfortable."

* * *

She waited until he was as close to comfortable as he could possibly be. He had decided to sit on the settee at the window instead of on the bed. The whiskey she kept in her suitcase was on the low table in front of him. Two glasses waited.

"Sophie?"

She lurched, briefly dizzy, and opted to remain on the edge of the bed.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I get… I just… I don't…" Clamping her lips together to cease her stammering, she swallowed hard. Unwelcome images came to mind and, tucking her hands between her knees, she sucked in a breath.

"Sophia." Her name was a heartfelt sigh, and tears welled in her eyes. He understood. Thank God, he understood. "You don't have to tell me if you don't think you're ready."

"I want to," she managed, biting back a sob as she remembered the cold wood against her cheek. The sharp edge digging into her thighs. She remembered the vise-like grip on her wrists, the cruel voice. The pain. The self-hatred because she hadn't escaped terror after all.

The phone ringing. His hand, sweaty and reeking with body odor, clamped over her mouth to silence her while he talked. The bruising blows when she'd bitten him and tried to get away. The taste of blood on her tongue, his vehement promise that he'd teach her a lesson.

Another voice, higher-pitched. Promising if she was good, she'd be let go. Unimaginable pain. Other voices, encouraging, laughing. Drunk, all of them, anxious for their turn. The horror. The fabric of the couch burning her skin.

She didn't realize she was speaking until she tripped over words. Staring at the carpet because she couldn't bear to see the expression on his face, she forced herself to continue. To explain that storms had been present both times. She hesitated briefly before telling him about running away, lying about her age to get a job, waiting tables and scrubbing floors until she had enough money to get further away.

It all came out. Things she had never told another living soul. Forging documents so she could go overseas. Sleeping in the bathroom of a tiny wrestling school in England because she couldn't afford a room and was too proud to ask for help. Making her way back to America, and fighting her way across to Florida. Where she had met Len and wallowed for a year. And where, on that stormiest of nights, Dean had burst into her life.

The words kept spilling out, until she'd told him about the ensuing year. The year she had met Charles Lacey, who gave her a chance.

"Then one night, Regal was at a show. And for some reason he saw something in me that he liked. And… Here I am," she finished.

She felt weak. Hollow. Raw. Trembling, vision starting to blur with tears, she covered her face with her hands and released a sob.

Seconds or hours passed, and she felt the gentle touch of his hands on her shoulders.

"Shh," he soothed. He rubbed her shoulders then moved his hands to her wrists. He held them until her sobs began to subside. Then, gently, he lowered her hands and reached to clear away her tears.

Her first thought upon looking into his eyes was that he looked shattered. Her second was that he must be biding his time until he could get the hell out of dodge.

"Oh, Sophia," he said. His tone was tender. And carried more than just her name.

"I-I tried to get help," she sniffled. "But I couldn't talk to the therapists I went to. I just couldn't. I don't know why. Then I was at the Performance Center all the time and then I was on the road. And the ring became my therapy."

He nodded, so understandingly she almost cried again. "I had no idea." His fingers were still smoothing over her cheeks, clearing away the errant tears. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am that it happened to you."

"I was talking to Dusty once." She tentatively cupped her hands over his wrists. Weak with relief when he didn't pull away from her touch, she held on. "I didn't tell him what had happened to me, but he knew something had. He told me he was sad as hell that it had, but he was also glad."

"Glad?"

"Because it made me less than perfect." Sophia inhaled deeply. "He said I was broken, and that when someone's been broken and put back together, they're harder to break again."

"Fucking Dusty," he muttered with a faint smile. "He was right."

"I'm not back together, Paul."

"I know," he whispered. "But you will be."

She shook her head. "Paul—"

"You're almost there, Sophie. You've told me."

"I didn't want to," she admitted.

"We'll get you through this," he promised.

 _We._ "We will?"

"Yes." He pulled his wrists free and caught her hands between his. "I promise, Sophie."

"I love you," she murmured.

"I love you," he assured, pressing a tender kiss to her hand. "Do you want a drink? Water? Anything?"

"Whiskey," she requested softly, regretting the decision when he let go of her hands. She watched him cross the room. Pulling her feet up onto the bed, she scooted back against the headboard and tucked her legs beneath her, hoping the whiskey and his company would ward away the sudden chill.

He returned with two glasses and the bottle. Joining her, he filled both their glasses. Then, draping his arm around her, he pulled her in close. As though he sensed she needed his warmth.

Two glasses later, the chill had abated. Shaking her head when he asked if wanted more, she let him take her glass. Then, tucking her arm across his middle, she released a weary sigh when his fingers began to lightly comb through her hair.

For the first time in forever, she felt truly safe.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I didn't realize until after writing this that I accidentally skipped over a week within the story. Apologies to anyone who noticed. I've decided to just go with it, though. :)**

Chapter Twenty

"I have to finish the cheesecake bites," Sophia said, looking to the side. "They've cooled enough now."

"What else has to be done?" Paul leaned back in his seat and sighed, knowing that he should leave her alone but unable to bring himself to do so.

On his screen, her nose wrinkled. "Put a little strawberry stuff on top of them. I think I'll do half and leave half plain."

Thinking of the cheesecake that she had served him one evening, he felt his mouth water. "Save some for me, okay?"

"I fixed you a whole one," she informed, tilting her phone so he could see a cheesecake resting on the kitchen counter.

"You didn't have to." Paul smiled once he saw her face again.

"I know, but I wanted to." She blew out a breath. "I should probably start getting ready."

"So early? The party's not for another…" Paul looked to his watch. "Five hours."

"Yeah, but I'm getting there early to lend a hand with decorating and arranging the food and trying my best to keep her from going overboard." Sophia made a face. "But I think that's—"

"Already too late," he finished with a chuckle.

"And I know you've got a ton of stuff to do. Can't just sit there looking sinfully handsome all damn day, right?" she mused.

He opened his mouth to reply, but it died on his tongue when his office door opened. Regal entered, smiling, and to Paul's horror, Sophia continued to speak.

"I'll text you later. Wish you could be there."

"I've got to go," he blurted. Too late, though, because he saw Regal's smile fading as the door closed. He fumbled with his phone to end the FaceTime session, muttering a curse when it fell forward on his desk.

"I love you," she said right before he ended the session.

He kept his gaze on his phone, clearing the screen and studying his messages. He heard movement, and glanced up just as Regal settled into the seat across from him. Knowing it was best to say nothing at all, he merely waited.

"Was that who I think it was?" Regal asked after a moment of silence. His face was an indifferent mask, but his eyes were hard.

"It may have been," Paul answered carefully.

"Hmm." Regal rubbed his chin, obviously contemplating which were the best words to use. "How long?"

"Regal—"

"Because I haven't heard so much as a whisper. In fact, the young woman I'm thinking of hasn't breathed a word to anyone about who she may or may not be seeing. Which I always found curious, as women tend to share these things with their friends. And being around the young women here, I always hear who's dating whom, who broke up with whom, who's met someone, who's moving in with someone else. But for her… Nothing. In fact—"

Paul sighed. This would take all afternoon.

"When she first started down here, there were a few that thought she was seeing Ambrose. It wasn't true, of course. The lad is obviously in love with her, but she'll never see him as anything but a friend. But because he was always around, well, you know how the locker rooms can be."

With a nod, Paul folded his hands on the desk. "That I do."

"That is, if it's the flower I think it was." Regal's gaze was unwavering. "And yet, one would think that people would have picked up on her getting involved with the boss. That's too delicious a piece of gossip to not spread around." He lifted his chin slightly. "How long?"

There was no reason to lie. And, of all people that could have walked in on him FaceTiming with Sophia, if he had to choose, he would have wanted Regal. Sighing, he met the steady gaze. "Just over a year."

"Really." The other man shifted in his seat slightly. "That last bit. Does she?"

"Regal, I can't—"

"It won't go further than this room. You have my word."

And Paul knew he did. The man would commit murder before betraying a trust. He thought of her tears, the way she held onto him backstage at Raw, how she had told him of the horrors she'd experienced. How she always managed to make him smile. How she did little, seemingly inconsequential things just for him. And, chest tightening, he recalled how she smiled when she saw him. As though he were the sun after a week of rain. "Yes," he answered softly, "I believe she does."

"And you?"

"I do," he said without hesitation.

"She's not just some little diversion? Something to keep boredom away?"

"No, she's not," Paul insisted. "She never was. It was… A year before I even… I didn't—"

"I know," Regal said, his voice gentle. "I believe you."

Exhaling slowly, Paul looked to his friend.

"The question is, what are you going to do now?"

* * *

"Don't you love it?"

"What the hell is it?" Sophia blurted, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Seeing Nattie's jaw drop in shock at the statement, she quickly threw her arms around the woman in a tight hug. "I didn't mean it like that! It's beautiful. But what is it?"

"It's going to be a chocolate fountain."

Sophia goggled at the tiered metal structure situated in the center of a small round table. "You got me a chocolate fountain?"

"Just for the night," Nattie answered with a laugh. "It's rented."

"But you got me one," Sophia enthused, giving her friend another hug. "This is amazing! Finn! Did you know this?"

From the kitchen, she heard Finn's chuckle. "I did."

"You two…" She sighed, slipping away from Nattie to gather her things. Nattie took her garment bag and small overnight case, saying she would put them in the guest room, and Sophia headed into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the foods she had prepared.

"Lass," Finn greeted, leaning to bump his lips against her temple. He took the stack of containers from her hands, placed them on the counter, then gestured behind him. "I asked TJ to make you some coffee."

"The man is a saint," she murmured, crossing to the coffeemaker and pouring herself a cup of the strong, dark brew. "Where is he?"

"He cleared out so he wouldn't get in the way." Finn slid onto the nearest stool. "But between you and me, he left so Nattie wouldn't put him to work."

"A saint _and_ smart. Nattie lucked out," she decided, tossing her keys and phone onto the counter. There was barely enough space for them, she realized, taking in the plates and containers spread out. Some foods were in the midst of being prepared. Others were already plated, covered in plastic wrap. Fretting at the vast amount of food, she rubbed the back of her neck. "Is she expecting an army? Because I know she only sent out a dozen invitations. I was with her when she did them. I was there when she sealed the envelopes. I even went with her to the post office. And she pinky-swore she wouldn't invite more people—"

"Sophia, lass, calm down." Finn nudged the stool next to him and motioned for her to sit.

"Easy for you to say." She crossed to perch on the stool.

"I worked my fingers to the bone fixing food for your party and you're complaining," he chastised, taking a sip from his mug of tea.

"I'm sorry. I – Really? You worked that hard?"

"You've no idea," he sighed, carefully flexing his fingers. He then extended his thumb, tilting it so she could see a faint mark on the tip. "See? I got a paper cut opening a box from the deli."

"The deli," she echoed, propping her chin on one hand.

"And I hit my head getting the stuff out of the car," he went on, tenderly rubbing the crown of his head. "Pretty sure I felt my brain rattle."

"You poor thing," she deadpanned.

He grinned. "Just don't tell Nattie. She thinks I made it all myself."

"She'd kill you," Sophia said. "And that would put a damper on the party."

"Very true," he agreed.

"Plus I kind of like having you as a friend, so…" She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Even though you'd deserve it, I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Your care for my wellbeing warms my heart," he muttered, shoulder bumping hers as he began to laugh. His levity soon faded, and his face was serious when he looked at her again. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she promised, fingers reaching to touch the infinity symbol. She hadn't seen Finn except in passing since Paul had given her the necklace. Fearing that his reaction would be similar to Dean's, she pushed the necklace beneath the t-shirt she wore and searched her mind for another subject to discuss.

"You know, I can tell," he said softly.

"Tell what?"

"You're… All glow-y again."

"I'm not glow-y."

"Trust me, lass, you're glow-y." He took another sip of his coffee. "When?"

Drawing in a deep breath, she considered not telling him anything. Nattie would come bursting in at any moment, after all. As though reading her thoughts, the blonde rushed into the kitchen, slipping a pair of sunglasses on and shouldering her purse.

"Running to get the balloons," she told them. "I've got the cats shut up in my room. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

The door closing behind her echoed throughout the kitchen, and Sophia rethought her decision that Nattie was her best female friend. Aware of Finn's gaze, she studied her cup of coffee. Hadn't he been the only one she'd truly confided in? He was the only one who'd guessed she was involved with Paul. And, she reminded herself bitterly, thinking of Dean's harsh words, the only one who hadn't judged. "Monday."

"At Raw?" he asked.

She nodded. The whole story tumbled out of her mouth. Paul's request that she meet with him. Her initial determination that she would stay at a distance. Her almost immediate caving when he'd given her the necklace. She sidetracked, surprising herself by telling Finn about the significance of the infinity symbol. Then she repeated Dean's explosion. The words still hurt, even when coming from her own mouth. Even when she had thought herself a whore a year ago, right after she had slept with Paul the first time. Her voice faltered then, but she forced on, feeling the need to bare all. But she had to gloss over the things she had told Paul.

"He found a reputable counselor," she finished, taking a sip of her cooled coffee. "My first appointment is in two weeks."

"You said therapy didn't work before," Finn said after a moment.

"It didn't. But… I'm ready to try again."

"Are you going to talk about him?"

She had no answer for that. She'd asked herself a dozen times since making the appointment. Finally, realizing that Finn was waiting for an answer, she murmured, "I don't know."

* * *

The party wasn't in full swing, but it was well on the way to that point. Sophia had been directed by Nattie to stay within a certain area. She realized it was almost the center point of the room, where everyone had to pass on their way to get food or drink or reach the doors leading out onto the patio.

"I have three things to say," Sasha announced as she approached. She had just arrived, as evidenced by the gift in one hand.

"I asked Nattie to tell everyone no gifts," Sophia groaned as she was pulled into a hug.

"That's not one of them, but where does this go?"

"She has a table set up… Somewhere." Looking around the room, Sophia saw it on the opposite side of the room and motioned to it. "Over there."

"Okay." Sasha stepped back and flicked a lock of hair behind her shoulder. First of all, how the hell do you live to be twenty-six without having a birthday party?"

"Um… Luck?" Sophia offered.

"Hmm. Second, happy almost birthday. I love you, girl."

Sophia smiled. "I love you too—"

"Third, that dress is stunning on you and I want to borrow it." Sasha gestured to the fitted royal blue sheath Sophia wore.

"Anytime." It had been a last minute purchase, having decided that her first birthday – or almost-birthday – party deserved a new dress.

"And the shoes," Sasha went on, handing her gift to TJ. "Put that on the table for me, would you, honey?"

Sophia glanced down at the high heeled, strappy sandals that Nattie had given her as an early gift. "Aren't they cute? They almost make wearing heels worth it. Nattie gave them to me."

"I need them," Sasha decided, glancing over her shoulder when music began to play. "Fourth—"

"You said three!"

"It's as many as there need to be!" Sasha wrinkled her nose, then reached behind Sophia to grab a cup of the punch. "Fourth, you're going to have to kiss Nattie's ass for the rest of her life for doing all this."

"I'm already conditioning my lips," Sophia promised with a laugh. "Is there a fifth?"

"Hmm.." Sasha took a sip of punch, and when she flinched slightly Sophia knew she had realized it was spiked. "Who the hell made this?"

"Nattie and TJ." Sophia grinned. "But more TJ than Nattie."

"It needs a freaking octane rating," Sasha gasped. Shaking her head, she took a daintier sip. "Oh! Fifth, where's your date?"

She'd sent him a text, as gently worded as possible, asking him not to come. Not that Dean had been her date. Or even said for certain whether he was coming. But she had asked him to stay away. Because she was too chicken to face him. Too scared of what he might say. "I don't have one."

"What… How do you not have a date? You need a date—" Sasha looked around wildly. "But who?"

"Don't," Sophia groaned, catching her friend's arm and turning her in the direction of the food spread. "I'm fine. Go get something to eat."

"But you need one – Seth!"

Sophia had to laugh when the man lurched to a stop at the sound of Sasha's voice. "Ignore her," she intervened, giving the other woman a nudge. "She's insane."

"What's up?" Seth asked, adjusting his cap before slinging his arm around Sophia's shoulders. "Happy birthday that isn't your birthday and makes me wonder when your birthday really is."

"Tha—"

"Sophia needs a date."

"Would you stop? You're making me sound like some desperate chick that couldn't get a guy on her own!"

Sasha tilted her head to one side and slowly blinked her eyes.

"I'm not desperate," Sophia scoffed.

"And she has a guy," Seth put in.

"She does?"

"I do?"

Seth laughed, gave her shoulders a squeeze, then glanced to the punch bowl. "Finn?"

"He's not my guy." Sophia attempted to imagine herself dating Finn, but it couldn't register.

"And if he was, he'd be out here. By her side." Sasha reached to grab Seth's wrist before he could get a cup of punch. "If you value your liver, don't touch that stuff."

"That bad?" Seth dropped his arm and looked around the room. "Is there beer?"

"Kitchen," Sophia provided. Grateful he'd come, and that he'd diverted Sasha's determination that she needed a date, she flashed him a smile before he headed away. She was about to move to get some food when she saw Finn heading in her direction. Spying her phone in his hand, she lifted a brow in confusion.

"You missed a call," he explained softly after slipping the phone into her hand.

"Who?" she asked, waking up the screen. She saw Paul's name and checked the time. He'd called nearly two hours before. Probably when she was getting ready. She vaguely remembered her phone buzzing on the bathroom counter while Nattie helped her with her makeup. Glancing around to see that Sasha had moved away, she sighed. "I'll call him back later."

"I didn't want anyone to pick it up and see anything," he murmured. He took the phone from her and slipped it his pocket. "Come on, get something to eat."

"By the way, don't drink the punch," she warned as she let him lead her to the buffet-style setup.

"I saw the empty bottles. I don't even want to smell it," he joked.

Within seconds he'd handed her a plate. She mindlessly selected from the variety, easily filling the plate. Feeling ravenous after darting back and forth before the party, she added another loaded potato skin, and held a third in her hand while crossing to one of the couches to sit.

Two hours later, she was laughing and half-dancing with Enzo to the bass-driven track playing. Feeling a slim body lean against her back, she glanced over her shoulder to see Carmella dancing close to her. Birthday parties, she decided once the song ended, were great. She felt carefree. Happy. The only thing that could have made the night better was if Paul was there with her. Breaking free of the cluster of dancers, she declined when Tye offered her a cup of punch, instead heading into the kitchen to get a cold bottle of water. It was hot.

Nattie, Cesaro, TJ, Emma, and Seth were chatting in the relative quiet of the kitchen, and she smiled when Seth grabbed water for her. "Thanks," she murmured, uncapping it and taking a sip.

"Having fun?" Nattie asked.

"A blast," Sophia promised. "I'm going to throw myself a huge birthday party when the time comes. With streamers and balloons and a piñata and a bouncy castle and a fucking clown making balloon animals!"

"How much have you had to drink?" Emma asked, grinning.

"Just punch." After the first few sips, it had tasted divine. Gulping down more water, she waved her free hand to create a makeshift fan against her heated cheeks.

"You've created a monster, Nattie," Cesaro announced.

"I did not. I just brought it out." Nattie smiled proudly. "Why don't you step outside and get some fresh air?"

"And no more punch," Seth told her.

"Where's Finn?" Sophia asked, looking around. Like the man was hiding in the kitchen.

"Patio, I think."

"Perfect." She needed her phone. She had a desperate longing to call Paul. To hear his soothing voice. Getting another bottle of water, she pointed to Nattie. "You have my permission to plan a fucking blowout for my actual birthday."

She barely heard Nattie's reply as she hurried out of the kitchen. Weaving through the dancing couples, she held her bottle of water above her head, yelping when a hand briefly grabbed her ass. The bodies shifted and she pushed through the opening, breathing a sigh of relief once she was away. Forgetting Seth's suggestion, she detoured to fill a cup with punch, then went out onto the patio.

"Finn," she called as soon as she saw him. Her heels clacked against the bricks as she made her way to him, and she beamed up at Cass when he greeted her with a nod. Finn was talking. She heard Shinsuke's name and knew he was talking wrestling, and began to gently tug on his arm. "Finn?"

"I told Matt that – What?" he asked, jerked out of the near-trance that only the business could put him in when she started pulling at his sleeve.

"I need my phone." Why else would she be jerking on his arm? She felt the bottle of water slip from the crook of her arm and bent her head to watch it fall to the bricks. It bounced against her foot, then Finn's, then rolled to the far side of the patio and disappeared under a table. "Oops. That was for you."

"How much have you had to drink?" Finn asked.

Why did everyone keep asking her that? "Just a little punch." That was right, she'd gotten punch. She lifted the cup for a sip, whining when it was pulled out of her hand by Cass. "I'm not drunk," she defended, even though no one had accused her of being so.

"If you drink anymore of this, you'll be driving the porcelain bus before you blow out the candles," Cass explained with a chuckle.

"No, I won't. I don't get drunk," she announced. I know my limits. A little tipsy is fine, but I never get drunk. I won't. Not after—" Closing her mouth together so quickly her teeth clicked together, she pushed the unwelcome memories away and resumed tugging on Finn's sleeve. "I need my phone, Finn."

"Why?" he asked, already pulling it from his pocket.

"Because…" She took her phone and unlocked it, smiling when she saw she had a text from Paul. Tilting the screen so neither man could see, she read the words, growing overheated all over again. She sidled away from the two men, leaning against the decorative lamppost. She read the message again, smiling as a soft breeze wafted over her. The breeze ruffled the streamers TJ and Cesaro had put up, and she lifted her phone to take a photo of the decorations. After lowering her phone, she brought up Paul's name and called him. He answered on the second ring. His voice flowed through her like the spiked punch, but was much more potent.

"Why are you calling me in the middle of your party?" he asked. She heard his indulgent chuckle, felt his warm grin.

"Because I wanted to hear your voice," she answered honestly. Finn, bless him, began to head inside, still talking to Cass. She made a mental note to thank him later. "What are you doing?"

"Financial reports."

"You're supposed to say something sexier than that," she murmured.

"Finances are sexy," he said, his voice a low timbre.

"Yeah, when you push them away to fuck instead."

He chuckled. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were a little drunk."

"See," she chirped, crossing to one of the plush chairs and sitting down. "You know me. I just had some punch. I'm on water now. I don't want to forget this night."

"I'm glad you're having fun."

"It would be more fun with you," she said softly, wriggling her toes in the sandals.

"Is Bálor taking you home?"

"Mm-hmm." She heard the music inside end, and leaned to see the party guests spreading out. "I think we're about to do cake. Then presents."

"I'll give you a present soon," Paul promised.

"The only present I want from you is an orgasm after I get home," she requested. A week apart had only increased her desire for him. Their four carnal meetings throughout Tuesday had done little to calm her fervor. "Can you come over?"

"Sophie, you'll need your rest—"

"Not as much as I need you," she broke in gently. "Please?"

"Text me when you get home," he said after a moment.

"I will." Delighted that she would see him that night, she squeezed her thighs together. "I—"

"Lass, come on," Finn called from the door. "Time for cake."

"Cake," she purred, getting to her feet. "Gotta go."

"Save a slice for me," Paul requested.

"I've got something else for you to eat. Ten times sweeter—"

"Lass," Finn groaned.

Giggling, she whispered a quick farewell and ended the call. "Sorry."

He accepted her extended phone, and regarded her. "No, you're not."

"Exactly."

The cake was massive. Sophia's first thought upon seeing it was to wonder where the hell Nattie had kept it hidden. It was a thick slab, decorated beautifully with purple and blue roses. She gazed at it while her friends sang the birthday song, their faces lit up by the candles. Her name was a large, swirling font in blue. What on earth would she wish for?

She leaned forward, holding her hair back when she felt the heat of the flames. And, just before she puckered her lips and began to blow, one thought rang loud and clear in her head.

 _I wish he could get away and be truly mine._

The raucous group was still clapping when the lights came back on. On impulse, she plucked one of the candles out and sucked off the icing. It was an explosion of sweet and creaminess, and she found she was starving again when Nattie began cutting into the cake.

"From now on, I'm never eating ice cream without cake," she announced several moments later. Tucked with Charlotte, Bayley, and Sasha on the couch, she had finally kicked off her shoes and was spooning ice cream into her mouth. It was difficult to eat with so much laughter, she marveled, scraping a huge blue icing rose off her piece of cake. Without remorse she popped it into her mouth, moaning softly.

"My run is going to kick my ass tomorrow," Charlotte mourned, eyeing the mound of cake and ice cream on her spoon.

"Mine too," Bayley sighed, holding up her loaded spoon.

"And mine," Sasha added. She, too, lifted a loaded spoon.

Sophia quickly loaded her own, feeling another round of laughter building up within her. "Worth it!"

Best night ever, she thought for perhaps the thousandth time since the party had started. Even though she had little to compare it to, she knew she had never had anything like it. Giggling with the girls. Dancing. Eating.

The sound of the doorbell was jarring. Sophia glanced up as Nattie broke away from talking to Carmella and Emma, wondering if it was yet another surprise. Surely not so late though? Kofi and his wife had left immediately after cake. Xavier and Seth both looked like they were preparing to leave, too.

Seconds later, Dean entered the living room. She stared at him in shock. Why was he there? He wasn't one for parties, unless it was a company event. And he was mad at her. And, damnit, she'd asked him not to come. She felt a settle over the festivities as he scanned the room, and got to her feet once he started her way.

"Sorry I'm late, babes," he drawled. Slinging out an arm, he looped it around her shoulders and dragged her close. Beyond him, she saw Zack and Emma slipping out. They were soon followed by Xavier.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, bracing her hands on his chest and leaning back.

"I couldn't miss your party, Soph."

"You're drunk," she accused, nose wrinkling. He reeked of beer. And cigarettes. Disgusted by the smell, she pushed at his chest. Around them she could hear only silence. From the kitchen came the gentle rattle of ice dropping out of the icemaker in the fridge. "Dean, let me go."

"I didn't mean it when I called you a whore," he blurted.

The silence increased. She could feel every person suck in a breath. "Dean, stop—"

"I'm sorry. I swear."

"Thank you, now please let me go." She doubted he would remember saying the words once he was sober. Rearing back when he tugged her closer, she tensed as another wave of beer and cigarettes crashed into her. "Dean—"

"Dude. She said let her go." Seth's voice was calm. Sophia saw his hand on Dean's shoulder, breathed a sigh of relief when Dean's grip on her loosened. She started to back away, only to yelp as his hand clamped down on her upper arm.

"I just need to talk to her, man," he told Seth, shrugging off the hand with ease. "C'mon, Soph, please. I'm sorry I blew up at you. And I deserved that bitchslap. Shit, my ear's still ringing from it. C'mon, I just need to talk to you."

"Not now," she pleaded, going still when his grip tightened.

"Then fucking when? You won't answer my calls, you've avoided the fuck out of me—"

"Because you called me a whore," she hissed, reaching to grip the wrist connected to the hand clutching her. And though it hurt, she managed to pull it away, stepping back. Her legs bumped into the couch. Hoping to defuse the situation, she sidestepped, hating that she was grateful when Seth and Cesaro both grabbed hold of Dean and guided him backwards. And felt her heart plummet at his next, shouted words.

"What do you expect when you go around fucking a married man?!"


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: A special shout out to AliceJericho for reading and reviewing every chapter of this crazy story. Hope you continue to enjoy! (Or not enjoy, as the case may be...) :) Also, short chapter is short.**

Chapter Twenty-One

Surprised when the car door opened, Sophia jerked her gaze from the window and was greeted with a to-go cup being held out to her. She took it, staring down at the white lid as Finn got behind the wheel and closed the door. He said nothing, merely clicked his seatbelt into place. Once the car was on the road again she took a tentative sip. Strong, sweetened hot tea warmed its way down her throat.

"Alright?" Finn asked quietly. The drink had been his idea. It would clear her head. She had pointed out that she had tea at home, but he had said he didn't mind getting her a cup. Sophia had a feeling he suspected she would shoo him away before he could fix tea at her place. And she probably would.

"How could he do that?" she whispered. She drank more tea. It wasn't immediately clearing her head, but it was slowly dissolving the chill that had settled in her since Dean's outburst. Letting the cup rest on her knee, she looked out the window again. "How could he get drunk and burst in and say…that…"

"I don't know, lass," Finn sighed.

She opened her mouth to list all the things she saw wrong with Dean's appearance and the words he'd said, but closed it on a sigh. She had already gone over it several times. In her mind, when Seth and Cesaro had managed to get Dean out of Nattie's living room. Again in her mind while guests began to make excuses and leave. To Finn when, still standing frozen in front of the couch, he had asked if she was alright. To Finn again while he'd stowed her things in the back seat of his car. Belatedly, she realized her car was at Nattie's house, and sighed. She would have to get it tomorrow.

"C'mon, Sophia." Finn touched her arm and she saw they'd reached her building. The car was parked, and she could feel the cool breeze through the open door. Unbuckling her belt, she felt his hand grab hers to guide her out of the car.

"Everyone's going to figure out who it is," she blurted as she fumbled with her keys when they reached her floor. Turning, she stared at Finn in horror. "There are only a handful of married men that I hang out with and—"

"Lass," he groaned. Nudging her aside, he took the keys from her hand and unlocked the door. "Get inside."

She did so without argument, thinking only of the horrified expression on everyone's face. Seth had actually done a double-take, shooting her a look of shock. Nattie's eyes had been as wide as saucers. The girls, Sasha and Charlotte and Bayley – her friends – had only stared at her. Sasha had looked upset when she'd given her a hug and muttered words of farewell. As though she were insulted that Sophia hadn't trusted her with her biggest secret. She couldn't remember anything else. Just the fact that her friends had been there and then, suddenly, they hadn't. She had never seen a group of people clear out so quickly.

Slumping onto the couch, still holding the cup of tea, she groaned. It would be all around the roster by the time the weekend events rolled around. It was probably halfway through now. Friends or not, it was too juicy a piece of gossip to hold onto. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her, looking to Finn warily as he placed her purse and overnight bag on the floor. When he shrugged out of his jacket, she tightened her grip on the cup. "Aren't you going home?"

"You don't need to be alone right now."

"But Paul—" She cut off. Calling him would be the worst decision right now. As soon as he saw her he would know something was wrong. And as soon as he found out what it was, he would… What would he do? She frowned, not sure if he would be mad and leave or if he would sigh and start doing internal damage control. Or would he just shrug it off?

"No one knows it's him," Finn promised, easing the cup from her hand. "It's not like you're always around him backstage. Or that he's always posting pics with you. Relax."

Relax? She almost laughed. "Tonight was supposed to be one of the best nights of my life."

"I know," he murmured, gently ruffling her hair before heading into the kitchen.

It was going to get back to Stephanie. The sudden comprehension of that fact hit her like a wave of ice water. Stephanie would know which married man Dean had meant. And Sophia shuddered to think what the woman would do to Paul. She should tell him. She stared at her purse, as though by doing so she could will her phone to come to her. When Finn came back she barely glanced at him, continuing to stare at her purse until, finally, she got the nerve to get up and find her phone inside. Seeing that she had two missed calls from him, she groaned. "He knows. I don't know how he knows, but he knows. And—"

"Sophia." Finn took the phone from her hand. "Breathe."

"But—"

"Go take a shower," he instructed. "It'll help clear your head."

"But—"

"If he calls again, do you want me to answer?"

"I don't know," she groaned.

"Go," he urged. "I'll fix you some tea."

"Tea isn't the answer to everything," she mumbled.

"No, but comes damned close to being the answer," he retorted. "Now go."

She thought she heard her phone ring three times before she got her face washed. Each time she was wrong. After the fourth time she remembered that her phone was on silent and berated herself while standing under the warm water. Not looking forward to seeing Finn's sympathetic expression again, she took her time showering. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw a mug of steaming tea waiting on her dresser. Smiling at the gesture, she took a sip before digging through her dresser drawers to find her most comfortable flannel pajamas. Her fingers grazed worn cotton and she paused, staring at the t-shirt that she remembered stealing from Dean at some point. "Damn it, Dean," she muttered, feeling a wave of sadness. How had things gotten so weird between them in the first place? Why had she let it happen? How could they ever be anywhere near as close as they had been?

She pushed the shirt behind everything else in the drawer and slammed it shut. Then, thinking better of it, she dug out the shirt and neatly folded it. She wouldn't take her irritation with him out on the shirt. After pulling on soft purple and white flannel pants and a matching top, she picked up her tea and made her way to the living room.

And nearly dropped the tea on her bare feet.

Finn rubbed the back of his neck. "He just got here a minute ago."

Paul didn't look as awkward as Finn seemed to be, but there was a new strain in his eyes. With no idea how to ease the uneasiness, Sophia looked from one man to the other. To hell with it, she thought, crossing to Paul. Finn knew. Paul knew that Finn knew. Relieved by the comfort of his strong arm sliding around her, she held her cup aloft so it wouldn't spill.

"You okay?" Paul asked softly.

She knew with one look at his face that he knew. Turning her head to look to Finn, she saw the man's cheeks tint a light pink.

"He dragged it out of me," Finn insisted, getting his jacket from the back of the couch.

"You're leaving?" she asked, surprised. Judging by his earlier doggedness, she had expected him to crash on her couch for the night.

"You don't need me, lass." He lifted a cup from the coffee table and took a hearty swig. Clearing his throat, he glanced at Paul, then held out an arm once he'd let Sophia go.

She pushed her cup into Paul's hand and embraced Finn tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. "For the party and for being here and… For everything."

"That's what friends are for." His arms tightened around her, then he was backing away to put on his jacket.

Sophia watched him exchange goodbyes with Paul. Taking both cups of tea, she carried them into the kitchen and emptied them. The kettle on the stove was still hot. She switched out the light and returned to the living room.

"What happened?" he sighed once they were on the couch. Once she was tucked securely in his arms.

"I'm a whore," she stated, reaching to drag the blanket from the back of the couch over them.

His arm, outstretched to help her, froze in midair. "Excuse me?"

"I'm a whore. Because I'm fucking around with a married man," she explained, using Dean's logic.

"Sophie—" His arm came around her. "You're not."

"A whore? Or fucking around with a married man?" Flinching at her own words, she dropped her head to his chest. "Fuck. I'm sorry, Paul."

"Sweetie…" He sighed, hand smoothing over her damp hair. A finger caught in a tangled lock and he gently freed it. "You're not a whore."

"Then why did he—"

"He's jealous."

She lifted her head to stare at him. "Jealous? Dean?"

"Jesus Christ, Sophia, he's been half in love with you for the past two years."

Pushing away from him slightly, she felt her jaw slacken. "What?!"

Paul sighed. "You've got to be kidding me. You didn't know?"

"Are you insane? We're talking about Dean. _Dean_."

Paul's eyes softened. "You really didn't know."

Still bowled over by the suggestion, she could only gape at him. Dean? In love with her? The idea was laughable, even though laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. The image wouldn't conjure in her mind. Dean was her friend, latest behavior notwithstanding. Her _best_ friend, as much as she hated the cutesy terminology. There had never been anything even remotely romantic. Well, aside from that kiss in Vegas… But that had been a fluke. His way of trying to make her feel better. Right?

"You've got to be wrong," she insisted.

Paul shook his head. "Believe me, Sophie. He wouldn't be so upset if he wasn't."

 _"Who was she?" she whispered._

 _"Who?"_

 _"The one that broke your heart."_

 _He laughed, but there was no mirth. "Does it count if she didn't know she broke it?"_

 _"Of course it counts."_

 _"She's someone special. She never knew that I… I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe if I'd had the balls to tell her. I don't know."_

"Oh," she whispered, recalling the words and the sadness in Dean's voice.

"Oh?"

Blinking, she focused on Paul. "I just remembered something… A conversation we had. It makes more sense, if what you say is true. But…" She shook her head again. "I could never see him that way."

"Why?"

"Because. It's Dean. He's closer to me than anyone ever has been. Almost like I've always thought a brother would be." Had she broken his heart? Fuck, that hurt almost as much as his cruel words. She hadn't meant to. She hadn't realized she had done it. And she would forever be sorry that she had. "And, because… Ah, hell, Paul, you know my heart's belonged to you practically since we first met."

"I don't deserve it," he murmured.

"Maybe not," she conceded after a moment. "But you have it. Which apparently makes me a whore."

"What's it make me?"

"I don't know." She sighed and tucked close to him. "An asshole, maybe. Or confused. Stupid. Something."

"How about lucky?"

Sophia gave her head a shake, watching his hand take hers. She stretched her fingers against his before they twined. "No," she whispered. "Luck runs out."

And she desperately didn't want them to do the same.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Holy moly, you all blow me away with your reviews and insights. Love you all! :)**

Chapter Twenty-Two

The waiting room was painted a soft yellow. Tasteful frames containing soothing artwork of landscapes hung on the walls. The low tables on either side of the overstuffed couch held matching lamps. There was an array of magazines spread across the coffee table. The room as a whole was warm. Inviting. Comfortable.

The middle-aged woman at the desk behind a low counter greeted Sophia warmly. She handed over a clipboard with forms to be filled out, then in a gentle voice requested that she silence her cell phone. Moving to sit on the couch, Sophia felt then tension in her shoulders decrease just a bit. Nothing about the area screamed that it was a therapist's office. There were no placards advertising medications, no medical journals. The magazines were current.

"Alright?"

Finn's voice was soft, and she felt his hand brush her arm. Glancing to him, she nodded and retrieved her phone to turn it off. He reached for a magazine, and the gentle flutter of pages turning provided a soundtrack while she began filling out the forms. She had told him when her appointment was, and hadn't really been surprised when he'd offer to drive her. At first she had balked at the idea – who knew what kind of mood she would be in when she left? – but now she was glad she had accepted. His presence was comforting, much like the tea he was forever pushing toward her.

"I hate this part," she muttered under her breath while flipping the form over. She lightly tapped the pen against her knee, staring at the section for her family's medical history.

"Just fill in what you know," he whispered.

She did, cringing at the gaps in her knowledge. She had no clue if her mother had suffered any illnesses or disease. Her memories of the woman were fuzzy, and ended with the abrupt announcement from her stepfather that there had been an accident. Knowing she shouldn't, she pushed the memories away and hurried through the rest of the form. She scanned the privacy policy and the payment agreement, pen scratching out her signature several times before she stood and carried the clipboard back to the receptionist.

"Dr. Hazel will be with you in just a few minutes," the woman assured.

Returning to the couch, Sophia tried flipping through a magazine. But the bright, colorful spreads of homes and gardens didn't draw her in, so she put it back on the table. Just when she was about to ask Finn for the time, the plain door leading further into the office opened.

"Miss Mason?"

The man was nothing like the scholarly image her mind had created. He was petite, slim, his greying hair and beard neatly trimmed. There was no bulky cardigan, no thick reading glasses, no stooped shoulders.

Finn gave her hand a supportive squeeze as she rose to her feet. Dr. Hazel introduced himself, his handshake firm, then led her down a short corridor to his office. Like the waiting room, the walls were painted yellow. A modern bookcase showcased various figurines, crystals, dolls, action figures, and teddy bears. There was a couch, with a cozy-looking blanket draped over the arm, and two armchairs. Plush carpeting covered the floor, and a plain, uncluttered desk in one corner. Dr. Hazel told her to have a seat anywhere she pleased, and she chose the armchair near the window.

He settled into the armchair across from her, balancing a notepad and a thin manila folder on his knee. He offered coffee, or tea, or soda if she preferred, and nodded when she declined.

"Why don't we start with you telling me what brought you here?" he suggested.

"I've been having… Issues," she said, feeling awkward. "Problems."

"Would you elaborate?"

"I don't know how. It's just… Things that happened to me are still bothering me even though it's years later. Right when I think everything is going to be okay, they rear their ugly heads."

"Have you attempted to deal with these issues?"

"I tried therapy four times. Each time I never went back after the first appointment."

He slipped a pen from his breast pocket. Sophia watched it start to move over the notepad. "Why didn't you go back?"

"I don't think I was ready," she admitted.

"Are you ready now?"

"I think so. Because I realized I was pushing away someone very important to me. Someone that only wants to help me." She thought of Paul's eyes, filled with sadness. Of his strong fingers cupping her face. And his fervent promise.

 _"We'll get you through this."_

"I'm ready," she whispered.

"Would you like to approach it slowly?"

"How do you mean?"

"How about starting with telling me a little bit about yourself?"

"How old I am, what I do, that sort of thing?" she clarified. He nodded. Taking a deep breath, crossed her legs and clasped her hands in her lap. "I'm twenty-six. I live here in Orlando, but I'm originally from Oregon. I'm a wrestler, and have been for ten years. My mother died when I was fifteen, in a… A drunk driving accident. I never knew my father. I left home about a year after my mother died, traveled the country wrestling and training. I went overseas to work in Japan, and found my way to Florida a few years ago. Then I got scouted by my dream company, and I've been with them for sixteen months now."

Dr. Hazel's pen paused its almost hypnotic movements on the notepad. "Would it be safe to say that wrestling is your passion?"

"Absolutely. I couldn't see myself not doing it."

"What about it pulled you in?"

"Well, as a kid it was just the pageantry. The women were beautiful but could kick ass. The men were larger than life. When I got to around twelve or thirteen I was able to start seeing how hard they all worked. It wasn't just slapping on baby oil and throwing someone else around for ten or fifteen minutes. I started renting videos and buying the magazines with my allowance, and when I was thirteen I knew it was what I wanted to do. All the girls in school were planning to be pop stars or movie stars, but I just wanted to wrestle." She paused, watching his pen move. "Then when I got away from home I found a wrestling school and started training. I loved it. As I got older I started going on road trips to do shows in other states, and by the time I was eighteen I knew in my heart that wrestling was the only dream I had. So I pursued it. I worked harder. I studied the greats. I practiced amazing promos from The Rock and Steve Austin in front mirrors. I listened to every bit of advice I could get."

"Would you say you've been successful?"

"Do you mean money? It's okay. I can't drop seven figures on a huge mansion, but I have a nice nest egg. I've started looking into investments. I know that I'm always one freak accident away from never being able to wrestle again. That's always in the back of my mind when I'm going through my finances. So, yeah, I'm doing okay in that regard." Unclasping her hands, she felt her shoulders relax fully and quietly sighed with relief. She could do this. "And on the flip side, I guess you could say I'm popular with the audience."

"Is the popularity important to you?"

"No… Not really. The people in charge are all about what kind of reaction someone gets when they go out. Are they booed, are they cheered, is there silence, that sort of thing. But it doesn't matter to me. I just love being able to go out and put on a show. Whether it's a dozen people out of the audience watching or all of them."

"Okay." Dr. Hazel turned to a fresh page on his notepad. "Let's go back a little bit. Your mother. Were you close?"

"We weren't joined at the hip and wearing matching clothes, but we had an okay relationship. She worked hard to provide for me, and sometimes worked two jobs. She wasn't crazy about my dream to become a wrestler. I guess she thought I would grow out of it."

"Can you talk about her death?"

"She and my stepfather went out one Friday. They always went out. Bar crawling." Sophia dropped her gaze to her knee, placing one hand over it when it started to bounce. "It was her one night off but they went out to drink and dance and whatever. I didn't think anything of it when I went to bed and they weren't home. When I woke up the next morning, my stepfather was at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and had a cast on his arm. He told me…"

 _"The stupid bitch started arguing with me and we ended up driving into a tree. She's dead. Fix me some goddamn coffee."_

Sophie repeated the words softly, realizing it had been the first time in over a year that she had thought of that morning.

"Was he always rude to you?"

"When he wasn't drunk and trying to be a pervert," she murmured. Her knee began to bounce faster.

"Was he the reason you left home?"

"Yes."

Dr. Hazel was quiet for a moment. When she slowly lifted her head to look at him, she found he was looking at her. Waiting.

"He got worse after she died. He always had a beer in his hand. He started touching me whenever I was near him." She remembered a large hand, groping, squeezing, accompanied by lewd words on a foul cloud of alcohol. "He'd walk in on me when I was taking a shower. I'd open the shower curtain and he'd be standing there, rubbing his crotch. I'd forget to lock my door sometimes, and every time I did I'd wake up in the middle of the night and find him watching me and masturbating. I started putting a chair under the doorknob every night."

Flushed with shame, she wet her lips. "Could I get some water? Please?"

"Of course." Dr. Hazel stood and crossed to a low cabinet near the desk that she hadn't noticed before. He came back, a chilled bottle of water in hand, and set it on the table next to her.

She took several sips, gaze on the box of tissues on the table. The room was silent. She could just hear traffic passing by the window. She didn't pretend to not know where she had left off and, clutching the water bottle, forced herself to continue.

"He would bring women home and have sex with them on the couch, even if I was sitting there trying to watch TV. I came home from school once and he had a woman and one of his friends there and they were…" She released a shaky breath. "Then he started bringing his friends over all the time. I had to wait on them. Because I was the woman of the house. I brought them beer and dumped ashtrays and fixed snacks."

Dr. Hazel's pen moved slowly, and she wondered what he was writing down. He said nothing, his expectant eyes on her.

"One night there was a bad storm. They were there, drunk." She closed her eyes and could see them, all three, in their stained jeans and football t-shirts, slouched on the couch. "I waited on them. Every time I tried to go to my room, they said they needed me for something else. And they kept touching me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me down in his lap and laughed when I tried to get away. One of his friends started rubbing my thigh and asked if I was still a virgin. They held me down and stripped me. I thought they'd let me go because he said they would after he showed them I was still a virgin. But they didn't."

She was looking out the window, but couldn't see the view.

"They just kept touching me and laughed when I begged them to let me go. He said I was being a good girl and he wouldn't hurt me. He told me all I had to do was keep being a good girl and it wouldn't hurt." A sob broke in her throat.

She heard movement, then felt a tissue being pressed into her palm. Wiping her eyes, she managed to tell him of the rest of the night. She told him how she had packed up her few things, stolen their money, and left in the pouring rain. And, to her surprise, she told him about that other stormy night. Of how it had been the last night of months of abuse. And, shockingly, she felt better. It was the first time she had told someone – a professional, someone that could possibly help her – and hadn't felt as though she were going to vomit. The first time she didn't feel she would see revulsion in the eyes of the person she told.

Dr. Hazel, pen idle, waited until she had composed herself. He didn't appear to mind the small army of crumpled tissues growing on the table. When she finally wiped away the last tear, he gave an understanding nod. "Do you fear storms?"

"Fear?" she repeated, lips twisting. "I hate them. If I'm watching a movie and it starts to storm during a scene, I get antsy. And when it storms in real life I… I break down. It's worse at night, if the lights start flickering and I can see the lightning flashing in the windows. I have trouble breathing, I curl up into a ball. My heart feels as though it'll beat out of my chest. I don't respond when someone tries to get me to talk."

"Are there flashbacks?"

"Little memories. I can smell cigarette smoke. I can feel the pain sometimes. I-I don't relieve every moment, just bits and pieces."

"I see."

Sophia watched his pen move, faster now than it had before, and felt her heartrate increase. "So… Am I crazy?"

"No, Sophia, you're not crazy." His pen paused. "I sense some resentment toward your mother for leaving you in the situation with your stepfather. And it appears to me that your traumas are unresolved and you suffer panic attacks."

"Okay." She took a sip of water. "Can you help me?"

"You have to help yourself."

"What kind of bullsh—"

"Let me finish, please." Dr. Hazel stopped writing, set her folder and the notepad aside. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. "I can only offer you the tools to help yourself. There are many ways of coping with the panic attacks, and many ways of working through the unresolved trauma."

"Pills?" she asked warily. Surely he wouldn't dope her up?

"I prefer to use medication as a last resort. What I'd like to try first is something a little less mainstream. Is there a place in your home where you can get away from the sights and sounds of a storm? A closet, perhaps?"

Thinking of her apartment, she nodded.

"What I'd like you to do is take everything out of that closet before the next storm. Then you put some blankets, a few pillows, whatever you think you would need to sit comfortably in there. If it doesn't have a light, store a flashlight or a lantern in it. Do you listen to music? Put a small radio in there, or portable speakers for your phone or music player. Maybe get a little container and have some snack bars too. And most importantly, keep a notebook or journal and a pen in there."

"So, build a little cave?"

"Exactly. And when the next storm hits, go in there. Close the door. Turn on the light. Turn on the music as loud as you need to so you can't hear the thunder. Focus on the music. Take a book with you and read. Don't think about the storm. Think about your breathing. Think about the best fight you ever had in a wrestling ring. Think about someone that always makes you smile. And that's what you write in your notebook. The things you think about that aren't the storm."

"And that will help?"

"It may. It may not. But I'd like you to try it before you brush it off."

"And I just write down whatever I think about? As long as it's not the storm?"

"Yes. A song lyric, a movie quote. Anything."

"Okay." She could do that. She hoped. She would have to make a list of what to get. Opening her mouth to ask him to tell her again what she would need, she smiled when Dr. Hazel tore a page from his notepad and handed it over to her. "Thank you."

"I'd like you to come back next week."

"What if I'm on the road during a storm?"

"Do the same thing in the hotel bathroom. Blankets, pillows, music, a book, and your notebook." His pen began to move on his notepad once again. "Also, I'd like you to write a letter for me."

"A letter?"

"To your mother."

Oh, boy. "What do you want me to say in this letter?"

"Anything you like. Write about how you've achieved your dream. Write what happened to you. Or not. Just write it to her."

"Okay…" It sounded ridiculous. But she would try. "What will you do with it?"

"You'll see next week." He glanced at his watch. "We have a few more minutes, if you'd like to discuss something else?"

A few minutes wouldn't be enough for all the other things she had to get off her chest. "I think I'll wait until next week," she said.

He nodded. He understood. He stood when she did, accepting her apology for the tissues with a nod. No, no, she could leave them, he would take care of them. He shook her hand again, his smile appearing genuine when he told her he looked forward to next week. At the door, he gave her his card and insisted she contact him if it stormed and the closet idea wasn't working.

Sophia thanked him, said goodbye, and made her way to the waiting room. She spoke with the receptionist, who already knew Dr. Hazel wanted to see her in a week, and made her next appointment. She inwardly cringed at the co-pay amount, meekly handing over her bank card. Tucking her receipt into her purse, she turned to find Finn standing and waiting.

He said nothing, merely offering a small smile while opening the door. Once they were crossing the building's parking lot to his waiting car, he gently bumped his shoulder against hers. "How'd it go?"

"I think it went okay. I come back next week."

"So you're going to keep at it?" he asked, unlocking the doors and opening the passenger door for her.

"I want to. He… He gave me some things to think about. And do." She smiled. "I know it sounds silly because I've only had one session, but… I feel better. Optimistic that things will work out."

"Good," Finn enthused. He waited until she'd gotten into the car, then closed the door. Once he was behind the wheel, he reached for his seatbelt. "How about stopping for a cup of tea before going home, then?"

* * *

Paul's steps slowed as he approached Stephanie's office. He wasn't sure what had pissed him off more: the fact he'd had to make an appointment through her assistant, or that she had ignored his calls and texts for the past two days. He should have known that she would make things even more difficult for him. The gossip mill that Sophia had feared was in full force and he had no doubt Stephanie knew every detail. Even the office staff were whispering about it. He'd overheard the receptionist and the security guard down in the lobby, both of them throwing out the names of married men that "she" could be having an affair with. Right after he had walked by, he'd heard the receptionist say his name in a stage whisper. It had been two weeks since Dean Ambrose had announced to a room full of people that Sophia was having an affair with a married man. Hadn't they found something else to chew on yet? Apparently not, he thought, seeing the look of distaste on Stephanie's assistant's face as he passed her. If she was up on the gossip, Stephanie surely was.

It was no surprise that he entered Stephanie's office and was greeted coldly. She barely looked up from her laptop, fingers typing angrily at the keyboard. She didn't smile. Neither did he.

"What do you want?" she asked when he sat in one of the chairs across from her. "I'm busy."

"I want to talk to you."

"Hmph."

"Steph—"

"Why aren't you talking to your precious little whore?" she asked. "Scared that everyone will figure out you're the asshole that's cheating on his wife?"

Yes, she definitely knew. "Honestly? I don't care anymore."

Her fingers froze over the keyboard. "Really."

Drawing in a deep breath, he mentally went over the words he'd rehearsed in his own office. "I'm filing for divorce."

The laptop lid crashed down, causing him to jump, and he saw the cold impassiveness sweep away, replaced by ire. Then, looking at him, she began to laugh. "Nice one, Paul."

"I'm serious."

"Sure you are. And what do you plan to do after you divorce me? Because you'll have nothing. No house, no job. No NXT to play with. No money."

"I—"

"No girls."

"Don't be too sure. I've already spoken with my lawyer. The courts don't look too kindly on mothers that dump their kids on relatives so they can run off to New York and fuck whatever guy they come across."

"They won't look too kindly on a father that's dropping their mother for a woman young enough to be his daughter," she shot back.

Paul shook his head. He refused to take her bait and lose his temper. "I'm not divorcing you for her."

She laughed, a caustic sound. "Likely story."

"You knew it was coming, Stephanie. Ever since you told me about Chris."

"I knew you'd try it. But really, Paul. You can't think you'll be successful. And what will you do? Dad won't want you in the company. You have nothing without me. Even if you did miraculously get custody of the girls, how would you provide for them?"

He knew exactly how he would provide for them. He had plenty of money put away. Investments. Securities. All in his name only. But he said nothing, working to keep his emotions in check.

"It's a cute threat, though," she went on, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. "I guess I'm supposed to beg you not to, promise you that you can keep the little whore on the side—"

"She's not a whore." He bit off the words, incensed at the repeated reference to Sophia as a whore. Stephanie. Dean. Even Sophia herself, which had upset him most. The world could think what they wanted of her, but he couldn't let her think of herself that way. And after a sleepless night holding a fretful Sophia on her couch, he had made up his mind it was past time to do the right thing.

"How cute," Stephanie simpered. "You think you're in love with her. You think she'll want you when you're not in a position of power? You think she'll spread her legs for your dick when you're showing up at TNA and making a fool of yourself? Please, Paul. It's adorable and all, but this isn't a fairytale. You'll lose everything, and your precious little Sophia will drop you and run into someone else's arms."

The fact that she was voicing his own fears gave him pause. Was he being foolish? No, he decided with a shake of his head. Sophia or no Sophia, he couldn't continue his sham of a marriage. His daughters deserved better. He deserved better. Even Stephanie, who didn't seem to care one way or the other, deserved better.

Straightening his tie, he rose to his feet. "There's no need to threaten me, Stephanie."

"Threaten? Trust me, I'm not threatening. I'm telling you what _will_ happen." She stood as well, her fake levity gone. "If you do this, Paul, I'll fucking end you."

"You know what? You already did," he said in a low voice. "You did it the day I married you."

* * *

"If it's any consolation, he feels like shit."

"He should." Sophia reached for the clean, folded t-shirts that were stacked on the arm of her couch. Tucking them into her suitcase, she glanced at Seth. His visit had been unexpected but not unwelcome. He'd brought his dog, Kevin, who kept trying to climb into her suitcase. She picked him up, gave him a quick cuddle, and set him back on the couch next to Seth, knowing that he would be back in her suitcase before she could turn around. "He ruined my party."

"He didn't mean to… Okay, well, he was mad about you telling him to not come," Seth conceded when she shot him a look.

"So he got drunk and burst in like a bad soap opera?" Shaking her head, she refolded a pair of jeans to pack.

"No one's judging you, Sophia," he said softly.

"Didn't you see them? They couldn't get out of there quicker. The local cell towers were probably jammed from all the texts and calls they made to spread the news."

"What news? That you've had sex with someone? Big whoop. It'd be bigger news if you hadn't."

"With a married man. Which makes me a whore—"

"Fucking stop, alright? You're not spreading your legs for every man that looks at you. Whatever you've got going on is your business."

Sophia looked at him, bewildered, and lifted Kevin out of her suitcase again. "You're not here to sweet talk me into telling you who it is, are you?" she asked suspiciously, carrying the dog with her into the kitchen. "Can he have bacon?"

"Yeah he can have that, and no, I'm not here to sweet talk you." Seth pushed off the couch with a grunt and followed her. "I'm here to test the waters for Ambrose."

"On your own?" she asked, opening the fridge to get cooked bacon, lettuce, and tomato.

"He's one of my best friends," Seth reminded. "And yours."

"I thought he was," she whispered, prying the lid off the container of bacon. She felt Kevin's body stiffen as he caught the smell, and set him on the floor before crumbling a couple pieces onto a plate for him.

"He has been ever since he met you. You've never had a bigger champion than him."

"Can I ask you something? And you have to tell the truth."

"No, I don't know who you're sleeping with, and I don't care—"

"Not that," she groaned, gathering what she would need to make sandwiches. It was nice to know that Seth didn't care, though. He made at least one of her close friends that didn't. "Does he… I mean… Ugh."

Seth leaned against the counter. Waiting.

"Someone told me that Dean's, um…" She couldn't bring herself to say it. It was still unbelievable to her, how could she ask Seth about it? Besides, he'd never told her. He'd never told her about any of his romantic entanglements. And he'd once professed that he told her everything. Things he wouldn't tell anyone else. So it stood to reason that, if he did, he hadn't told Seth. "Never mind."

"Don't do the fucking chick thing," Seth groaned, grabbing the loaf of bread out of her hands. "I know firsthand that you've got balls, Sophia, so fucking use them."

Scowling up at him, she began tearing the lettuce. She had to ask. Out of everyone she knew, Seth would have the answer. "Have you ever gotten the insane idea that Dean's in love with me?"

He stared at her, expression going from surprised to thoughtful to amused. "You're kidding, right? You didn't know?"

"Obviously fucking not," she muttered.

"I could tell from the time he first introduced us. I always figured it was some kind of brotherly thing, y'know?" Seth reached for the tomato and slid the cutting board closer to him. "But the last few months… Yeah, he is."

"Why didn't he say anything to me?"

"Probably because he knew he'd get shot down."

She groaned, because he would have been. "I do love him, Seth."

"I know." He began layering tomato, lettuce, and bacon on the bread. "Just not that way."

"He's like my overprotective brother."

Seth sighed and lightly tousled her hair. "Then stop worrying about it."

"I don't want to hurt him. Even though I'm still mad as hell at him, I never want to hurt him."

"Hate to say it, but…" Seth looked at her sadly. "I think you already have."


End file.
